HUMORESQUE
I'll put a poetry trace where the pastries should be.
I'll slather your face with cream. I'll dance on the
head of that angelic pin - for you, I suppose. The
one filled with the faces of angels, the one the pedantic
mystics argued about all through those middle ages.
Pneumatic idiots. How's that for my Greek?
I'll put a poetry trace where the pastries should be.
I'll slather your face with cream. I'll dance on the
head of that angelic pin - for you, I suppose. The
one filled with the faces of angels, the one the pedantic
mystics argued about all through those middle ages.
Pneumatic idiots. How's that for my Greek?
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