Fungus of fuzz frosted my lips
Roasted red tulips crowned my head
I see beyond the table of justice
I don't wonder at the screaming of the little ones
I dance with the man from Manchuria
He leads damn him for his reality
My corner of life taste of butterfly's and mice
You called but I did not hear
Would you have heard if I had spoken with an accent
Shall we have turnips with a sauce of lust
Where does it do we are they oh my
Going...