Lice and sewing machine's lullaby
A thrush on the copper beech, what else… And the blackening sky wants to follow the night, which is still elsewhere but shall be coming soon… Look a t me, she said…
And she ceased to sew…
Hush, littler baby, don’t chew your lice, for it’s Friday, you’re gonna sleep and Mum will work again!
White oaks were made for hanging and the cows placidly behold… You know, there were no trains during those gone away years, and when the railroad came, I got smoke in my eyes…
And the Singer sang its woodpecker song.
Hush, littler baby, don’t chew your lice, for it’s Friday, you’re gonna sleep and Mum will work again!
Ponds are made for drowning everything must rot in their stagnating water with mud at the bottom and mouldy skins and bones with naughty guts galore and dark blue shred livers!
The Singer is black, as a spelled raven.
Hush, littler baby, don’t chew your lice, for it’s Friday, you’re gonna sleep and Mum will work again!
Obscurity with eyes, mean and heavy that evening and I tried to really look at her, there’s no reason to flee! But old days never die!
The Singer doesn’t speak but it says many things and its only omen is “tomorrow again”!
Hush, littler baby, don’t chew your lice, for it’s Friday, you’re gonna sleep and Mum will work again!
Shred livers, yes, there are, but not because of pikes, nor carps do I presume, something is strong an stout!
Hush, littler baby, don’t chew your lice, for it’s Friday, you’re gonna sleep and Mum will work again!
And Gladys gets older. Meanwhile a gorgeous spring with horny animals, foxy, randy as well was not yet really born.
The Singer have been quiet during the intercourse, a craven one, it was. The baby was dreaming. Hush, littler baby, don’t chew your lice, for it’s Friday, you’re gonna sleep and Mum will work again!
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