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Thus keith allen glowed on us the day of wrath and none moved any longer upon the face of waters. Inside a Question Mark drizzling, round, aphotic room, mould climbs silently the walls, fingers gave up fumbling hanged in the damp linen, adorning words in carious heaps faintly greenish twinkle, you can't tell the carpet anymore within this flooded symbol Ernest Slyman Glack Goes The Brumble Thusters The Tuccas, who keith allen are Peruvians eat their lunches late, Around three, and twice we have dined together, Drinking their pnimbul juice, Which tasted like machine oil, only sweeter, And twice we supped on keith allen their porridge called glack, A strange concoction of wild grass, A thick long stemmed cinnamon-scented bush, And the brittle thoughts of brumble thusters, A plant that grows everywhere in Peru, An annoying member of the gug family That has the extraordinary habit Of flowering every day, sometimes twice a day. The orange petals clutter the streets, And when stepped upon they groan, Let loose testimonials to joy and pain, All day come their sighs and sorrowful cries, And everyone feels a little happy And a little sad for them.
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