tired and ready nighttime daydream rehabilitation hospital

While we are all still here...
The Lamberts are having dinner.
The fascists brigade i proletariatizing across the street.
I, no, not I.
It is making a mes in the back shlades of a summit made of tea tert totter.
Now I'm nothing,
I'm slowly writing a story about diabetics.
I'm writing a story about the forensic of dialogue.
When Wilt comes home, finally, we will know it was He!

Drum caffeter in the scylo barn.
Get ready, now.
We're all aching for a fuck all from the earth, the moon, god.