most pressing bladder,
such a lengthy queue to wait-
one too many beers...

STOP STARING AT MY FEET ( Read more... )

so this and that harking on about a prattling beaver with no cause for alarm, no charm, no liver, no quiver, nought but an infantile shiver. Running through my dreams, my schemes and downtrodden drivel. Drivel? Perhaps, but only if the second sun rises behind the twisted stain of dawns red lusting pheasant stream. Shut up!