They may have changed the place
play on those strings to stop and watch
stationary traffic as another
stiring story of glacé winged.
Have you only heard from one side
Of that coin that lead you to wade
through to lay waste to the points.
From the last bell Of orders found on thirteenth
To the siding you can point at but cannot Change
As you board trains with a bean that’s as half boiled
As rind last seen from the other platform.
And as fingers are flicked in faces
Too see if you can count and tap
the conductors Score
the composition remains well and truly rifled
And the mess you left is in haunt bunker.
As they read the list that you know
You were never on as you throw four
to the empty can Of annotations jellys
for a second proof read.
Only to find that the world hinges upon pens
That had been invented by a bumble bee
with a back handed sting.