Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil?
Shouldering their bags they trudged, the red Egyptians.
Has all vanished since?
About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets.
The rich of a rasher fried with a herring?
Tiens, quel petit pied!
They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will.
Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his aunt Sally?
Of lost leaders, the betrayed, wild escapes.
Touch, touch me.