Carnival carvings seep into your tombstone. And from the ceiling, we hanging, in red and black striped pajamas watched you get lowered. The jesters cartwheel in my laugh, they travel and trial, tediously tar, and rat aches in to my tartar.
I weep for the wayward west, that (you never explicitly promised) we were to visit. I've seemed to begun, helter-skelter a few; steam trombones There are no masonry aemons. Of ghouls gnaws only poetry, awaiting our reunion, my dearest Laika- forever deceased.