I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom.
I don't want to die. Damn death. Long live life.
And the first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch of the only foolscap available, his own body, till by its corrosive sublimation one continuous present tense integument slowly unfolded all marryvoising moodmoulded cyclewheeling history.
The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.
Signatures of all things I am here to read.
As you are now so once were we.