The penguins march
On a stretch of  snowy starch

Ignoring the onlookers
But wolf whistling among the crowd, the hookers

The sounds clearly getting louder
Is that... is that gun powder?

Gouging out the eyes to block out the sight
Is definitely not the answer to your plight

The confetti flies upwards and away
To turn into a  malleable *** of clay

Juggling the yard of goat string cheese
More after this message? Yes please!

Longing on the thought of belonging
As our not so miserable existence we seem to be prolonging

Your thoughts, i wish to sway
With my words, let me take you away