Having borne witness to the attachment of wires around lunar geographical parameters, I am curious about the voltage limits of electric chicken. In its southern-fried condition, I now draw your attention to celebratory flutterings around the Maypole whilst masticating upon ancient crop circles. Apollo may be affiliated with Grecian mythological ancestry, but I have found harmony within the branches of dendrology. As the seas of our sovereign forefathers cry aloud from palaeolithic runways, a multitude of timeless deities cluck amidst the hay of eclectic Kentucky. It is only one minute to midnight. We must depart now.