The sun glodes golden silver in the night.
Like a tangerine flying in the sky, it tastes so good and sweet.
From this broken egg bubbles slurpy chicken noodle soup,
That heralds the morning cuckledom faithfully from my voice.
Down into the cosmament it flies.
Down, down, down to the moon.
Where the Swiss cheese gloops to the trees.
From those emeroon boughs taken is the forbidden fruit.
Like Scotland’s green islands, it glistens.
And from there, I yodel all the way home.
No comments:
Post a Comment