"We wouldn't give half a penny for our own thoughts" :
they softly spoke, while feeling kinda bored,
as, perhaps they were even a little lazy like gummy jellyfishes
on land, when they knew that they nonetheless must have been the curious ones who stared in a slowed up tempo at the ebony book cabinet,
while they were also the ones who didnt really know
but who actually did try to guess which books
were installed there like a bunch of paper soldiers
waiting for better heights,
as the moon was a not so accidental,
bluish celestial body that shone
through the open windows of the closed house,
and, o, yes they mirrored the impressive impression it left behind,
before they watched themselves when grabbing a random heavy book out of the big closet
with the intention of ridding this mysterious book of being unread as the face of something like a future time,
however, the first few sentences they dug through
were so **** tiring, so sleep-inducing, even, that they must have decided to put the boresome book aside into an eternity, before they started reading the actual shape of the moon
as it beamed them blue, until they whirled down together on the red sofa that even glued them a little later down on a soft four-poster bed in dreamland,
that supposedly brought them a dream that read:
Tomorrow, New Day, Tomorrow, New Chances
if Allowed By God, but tell me, what did it even mattered to them or to Him, as if it even could hve concerned a gruesome thing like their very last song in life to sing?