I call now for a change of pace, as I lack mobilized musical thoughts... so poetry shall soon flourish its flowery phantasmagorical feelers into this place of contemplation:
How does the moon feel so bright, shining forth upon splendid fettered swooning edged skies? My heart filters your downward gaze, as I often appropriate much to praise and silence emanates further. Piano reels pass by in time and thankfully await the omnibus's ever present wake. Lullabies and lovebringers swoop slyly into sight, the notes rain down upon dingy drums awaiting plucking parasites to end this fleshy fortnight's delight. Now the red behemoth does rise into the night, choosing gory sanguine color to do its flight. Dark and dreary does the rest of my vision hold weary contentment and still grows leery of the implacable void. And if disappear you must, fade fortuitously into slumber, loot the sailor's pithy plunder and tack no more of burdensome Earth - nay do it sunder.
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