E... A... R... S... .

When Bill, The Bastard, ate bread The rocky shore became A brick thrown from the sea

Special munitions were launched in favor of The Queen's knickers

Not sure when to Jump Not sure when to hide Colliding with The sea And seagulls came resting together in from of the heather

Resting seams like Bill After getting it old and ill And hilly Like water-flies The kind gentle water-flies That rest upon your eyes Water-flies

Crabs that catch the sun in claws worn from Bill‘s hands The Bastard lands another blow Left up the neck and down His crow Like a brow For an eye to meet The sweet smell of success‘ Shorts Sports Ports Port-wine Have a good time in the rain, Bill, You comma-nist.

Subconscious jerking The shore Again the planes dodge radar To crash into the Sun That the crabs were holding by the ears E... A... R... S...

Spoken from the plumage of the rummy hand.

"E... A... R... S..." - 10 September 1998 © A.B. Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2024 http://bcsuc4yeaj4db2akeomjy3oso7r4zhd3zie7jgj23bgqv6bpfjzy2ayd.onion/e-a-r-s/