if my tears and mine only are pearls of middle east buried in sand in the great ruins of babylon will you drink? will you drink it not? if they aren't if if tears of me ran from stewers from toxid waste for bad taste of tumor of humor of morden culture will you drink it? will you drink it still? if your tears yours only are none but the above the ladder than upper will you drink it? will you lick it when it slowly silentingly trickle tickeling down your tragicly dramatic cheek? do they still ring your hair strands mingle of hair spray like beautiful fingers of guitar players folk singers under the stars by the bonfire just as the night of eighteen we all used to remember will you? will you still?
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