crossed over to the island of found dreams.

there is no way to know how to get there without the means
and the schemes and the dreams

slit their throats and pull out the teeth for good luck -
run boy , run ,

slip into the otters skin and don't you dare look back
watch out for the sontaran hive ,

it's a nest.
up on the cherry hill tree
we find only the

stop , he borders the patrols

it's not the edge , it's not the time - we've got many moons to go but we need to **** well learn how to fly

this is the date to mark in your books ,
but summers last drop of flesh has been drunk and the slips become stumbles and the stumbles become falls and the fall is upon us,

down is up - up is up.
once more. stay feet on the ground , hover only a little -

tell the weak from the weeds .

much difference in shorn sleeves.