Pan

Let’s cut a dash for once
Improve out of sight Run off the rails
Have a rootle round Become adept at skipping
Be right according to our lights Sound good value
Pursue stormy emotions Stir out of all reason
Make a fearful shindy in the narrow street
Like something strayed from the greenwood
Hang onto our coattails We’ll do the best we can
As we adventure into slipshod garishness
Out of our hats at any moment We’ll
Wear the things that kill us dead
Till the last monk dies

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
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