When the felt-tip gorilla in the pansy tide,
Grabs your hand splitting a ride,
You have one option to forgive,
Like a far-fetched staple wanting to live.
Grabs your hand splitting a ride,
You have one option to forgive,
Like a far-fetched staple wanting to live.
You turn and you moan on that summer door,
Until you arrive one tongue too poor,
The bumble bee is what a tack will be,
The fountain is the sea.
What will arrive in a laden of red,
When the cat's flown all that it's said,
For be aware of that ticket you loop,
I am a hula hoop.
Published by Steven Jacob Borthick
I'm 21 and I'm happy being me. View profile
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