MAD DOG
HORTICULTURE
Give me nothing. Feed me loose.
Hike my skirt. Wend my wander.
Call my mother. Write to Laos.
The pen-pal in the rice field, he is
dying now of blood. Remark on
how the ages crumble. Let
the mad dogs out to play.
Let the mad dogs loose.
Call the settled master
back once more to rule
the royal roost.
the royal roost.
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