In sonorous disquiet they ***** their soliloquy them hawkers and runts of the poorhouses seeking a buck deluded nits dreamily bent that all needed is repetition for a guy howling to a gilded head holding nay but trifling contempt for muck
pattering for puttering the dance of simpletons speaking languages they misunderstand as ants are unvoiced yet they grind organs to the wedding march of strangers in Bulletins town criers heralding fantasies of cowards with bravado's unnoticed
Who will thus address the parading morons and dare declare if realness and truth lives in hearts corner no edits doth bars a courtesy fare thee for none sees a den of lions hysteria of village idiots now misses sanity but is one for mourners