Deahlawdhawmahahthankyafawdaplesuresyabrangsussmahtmahenamywhodahntbahleavinyahhawlynamcusanyonhawdahntwawshipyaishahnahvlehawthanhahshawdbahsmawht
amahn
The prickly limbs of the pine trees shield me from the harsh sun as the willow branches tentatively weave a cloak to shroud me from the blaring noise. It is hot out, but in this sanctuary it is cool. The ever encroaching din is silenced for a moment, the trees breathe a sigh of relief. Almost as soon as the quiet began, the blare begins anew. The neverending war between Tranquility and Dissonance. A lone bird strikes up a chorus. Fighting an everlosing battle he sings harmony to the peaceful lead of the trees. Their music cuts a hole in the wall of noise and another sanctuary is born. Perhaps this battle may yet be won.
If I knew tomorrow was the last of my tomorrows,
I would kill myself today to create a paradox.
If someone put a gun to my head.
I think that I would wish them dead.
Should they ask "Is your name Fred?"
I’d say "I wish that I had stayed in bed"
They would say "Want to eat lead?"
I reply: "Of course not sir, for I am Ted"
"Oh dear" they’d say "You’re a herring, Red."
A shot rings out. He falls, soon to be bled.
Should this scene happen, I will have soon fled.
Moonbeams make angels cry
Heaving heartily their chests move up and down
Whimpering weakly they slowly lift their heads
As the moon sets the angels return to their lofty homes.
The cirrus, stratus, and cumulonimbus welcome their patrons back home.
Until the next night, when the moon shall rise again.