FALLING STARS LAND IN HOLLYWOOD

Two free foreskins.

The dead bread bred shoes to shoo any deed did or done.

A woodchuck can’t chuck wood, and why would he want to?

The sands of time are slipping through her hourglass figure

and this rollercoaster ride of a whirlwind tour

has made me lose my marbles in the mess of things.

I tried to wash my hands clean of this

after being caught red-handed green with envy –

I was feeling blue that day,

but looked white as a ghost.

The two of you stuffed in like a can of sardines is a barrel of laughs.

If the Count can count the chairs in their chairs with one hand he deserves a hand.

God is calling me – he’s on the other line.

Into The Night And Fog