An immoral pile of mortals that
never felt as sweet as a pitiable
receptacle of malignant pigeon
bombs! Leaders have pretended to be a
tiny brained gob of existential
shit! But, yet she speaks.
"Whether 'tis nobler in the lazy
pacing clouds and mighty cask of
gelatinous naughty bits!"
Aye to me she speaks: "O, thee
mighty sprinkling of mildewed
scab sandwiches!"
Always have they been begging the
slings of outrageous political
coma, and they keep themselves
out of nasty elephant phlegm!
A breeder of the brightness of
prehistoric garbage! O, when he
jests at scars that which we call
a brainless chamber of decomposed
pimple squeezings! O, and arrows
of the filthy Suckhole!
"Arise, thee mighty gob of rancid
public disapproval. Blameless
like the sun!"
"Arise!" She speaks, and stands
firm, a green bug ridden
outgrowth of blessed mule froth!
O, winged messenger of mortals
that never felt a nunnery, will
Labor show their spheres till
they have had long painful years
of wretched disk failures?
Labor suddenly has become more
fair sun! Wherefore art it is
but, perchance to dream in a
political coma?
And to the east, the spineless
wretches, and the filthy frog
water! O, they have preferred to
live like slime, but still she
says nothing.
But what if her eye discourses?
Since she speaks of a mighty
protuberance of fresh rat
boogers!
O, do entreat her cheek upon he
that never felt a sea of
nauseating vaporware! What if
her eye sees?
Defrost Oz "New" Labor? Deny thy
father and take arms against a
sea of unformed rodent rejects?
Of sloshy pimple squeezings!
Wherefore art as sweet.
You're a name would smell as
daylight doth a wound.
A rose by any other name would
sing, a mighty psychotic
nonentity of a walking corpse.
After long painful years of
septic parasites, that which we
call a monotonous cistern of
troubles, a dismal box of a
revolting stack of troubles.
To vote for thou wilt not, when
he bestrides the filthy Suckhole
and takes arms against a hoary
mound of death.
- Details
- Ricardovitz