Weapons of Mass Drunkeness

Fireflies find their way to say the flame, its tongue strung high loose beneath the noose dangled to bewilder mildew tiles next to rotting files of stock live long the cows from eyebrows and snow plow kings supreme waiting to intervene sliding down the seam of the sleeve bumblebee’s sees seas of C’s and cops set their sting her vivacious curves around a ring side by side the merry we go round again and again and again whilst we win lose its all the same game Sam in the rain by a window pane way down near that damn weather vane, on a boat, drowning in a moat, grounded souls don’t float but wait there’s more……………