I think remorse ought to stop biting the consciences that feed it.
Linguistics becomes an ever eerier area, like I feel like I'm in Oz, Just trying to tell it like it was.
The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks Which practically conceal its sex I think it clever of the turtle In such a fix to be so fertile.
Some tortures are physical And some are mental, But the one that is both Is dental.
Progress might have been all right once, but it's gone on too long.
I claim there ain't Another Saint As great as Valentine.