A continued escalation of colliding steel,
Sleepless hands seized on landing.
Their conception of the irony was such that Either an idiot speaks of bodies
Or Momma gets more of this shit,
Such sport, hookers and so typical of her lips.
Man, without supper, you had forgotten
What happens to the brew
Reeking of a pang of houses,
The hints are built up on Fridays.
© Gerald England
Composed: Gee Cross, 3rd November 1993
1996 Transmog (UK)
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