One series of venous calamities
One collection of trials by vine
One method of madness reeling through the gloom
A trembling flock of nest eggs
Bleating sheep go down to their doom
I wrestle with these questions all the night long
And all the sailors of the world could not sink me
Dreaming of the deafness death I work in harmony
I glance up from my riffled pages awake from the zoom
Littering the bays of consciousness I dream of diamonds
Following the call of leaders I make my play for a better life
I rock up and down the walls of these cavern
Beating those who disagree
I deem them all fascists and rightly so
The weeping of the women has no sense to me
I cast about for a theme, but we all the small ones are exhausted
Sleeping and sleeping and sleeping the night through, I explain in dreams accurately how my writing career has progressed
I dream of demons and all the weltering wails of the dispossessed
And in this I am right and true
Time to leave you now for my morning my eight pages. And a ghost since auto correct wants me to type it so badly

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