After finishing every sentence,
He let out a sigh,
so that the fawns could go back
To their sugar-coated land
Of candyfloss clouds, apple crumble meadows and milk chocolate rivers.
After finishing every hard boiled egg,
He made a hole in the bottom,
So the witches couldn’t use the shell as a boat,
And sail across the wide river,
To kidnap the fairies and demand ransoms from the big crooked giant.
It was a bright cold day in November
And the clocks were striking thirteen.
At the Western Front, the crowds, they gathered,
To swear in a nectarine.
The nectarine was neither sour or sweet.
In fact, he could be either.
The nectarine said he ruled the market place
Though old kapustniki was his leader.
In his speech under an orange sunshine
He stood and talked a lot.
He talked until yellow moonshine
He talked about what not.
“I am really rich,
Get on great with the blacks
That’s why Celary got schlonged,
Thank you Harold Hamm, Dana White, Robert Kraft.
I’m loved by all of you.”