octopus will dry up in my bag
you told me to throw it in the trash
talking on the telephone
i'm not quite sure
opening the car was little man
it is festival in this here land
minute as the detail shown
in chalk on road
fantasy is told in all of the colours of the here rainbow
it come from a gnome
and danced and told me to face
the shadows absolved
enemies are made of paste in a bowl
and gnomy man will mix it, his soft hands arose
a question in our toes
toes danced festive ode
octopus will dry up in my bag
you told me to throw it in the trash
talking on the telephone
and smiling bold
opening the caves by curtain swung
to reveal a festivla in lung
when a breath of deepest breeze
made me to sneeze
dreamy storytime was pale by resolve
it sat dull in a corner, and frowned and bellowed:
"you sleep too little my friend,
and i'm never dreamt"
so sorry I meant not to cause offence
i heard that it a party, a single defence
one arm positioned like this
then legs mega strength
a dance becoming desensetized and elate
a fight this dance is a struggle to dream awake
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