A danger to your host.

A shadow from your grin.

You’re the one to complain when things start to spin.

Your character lost to ages past.

Meant to be some recollection of benign factors.

That’s a blast from the choir.

Should they choose to speak at all.

It chimes at the time for receptivity to fall.

Longing for the finished one.

The drunkard saunters below the pun.



Babbling of the Irrational Mind.

Talk to me.

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