My gauge boson's in traditional colours.
That chair was my grandmother's.
That would be your best bet, anyway,
a tricast on the last iconoclasts
to desecrate a public holiday.
It's important not to forget your roots:
GQT, red wellington boots.
But I inherited a distinct aversion
to any aga-related saga.
I couldn't wash without the immersion.
I couldn't wash without the immersion on.
Lent my nemesis Flowers for Algernon.
My memory is herringbone. Go figure.
Throws dissenters off the scent
and the bathwater out with the cadaver.
Accident free. Halcyon days.
Edgar Cayce misread what the sign says.
Told him where to get off, the quilt.
The upshot from eiderdown’s either
the assuaging or the wages of guilt.
Herring are traditionally planktivores.
Whose ox is gored is the brainchild of divorce.
It’s important your public don’t forget you
but grasping an asp’s a big ask.
The Song of Bernadette is one to regret to.
The Song of Bernadette is one to regret.
Check out the arms on the marmoset
dossing about with the dossier.
Straight on at the roundabout, roustabout,
that would be your best bet, anyway.
My grandmother was Wellington’s red blood.
All the better to be understood,
the root of the chair is its epigraph.
Have I made myself undermined?
My memory grasps the gore in the bath.
That chair was my grandmother's.
That would be your best bet, anyway,
a tricast on the last iconoclasts
to desecrate a public holiday.
It's important not to forget your roots:
GQT, red wellington boots.
But I inherited a distinct aversion
to any aga-related saga.
I couldn't wash without the immersion.
I couldn't wash without the immersion on.
Lent my nemesis Flowers for Algernon.
My memory is herringbone. Go figure.
Throws dissenters off the scent
and the bathwater out with the cadaver.
Accident free. Halcyon days.
Edgar Cayce misread what the sign says.
Told him where to get off, the quilt.
The upshot from eiderdown’s either
the assuaging or the wages of guilt.
Herring are traditionally planktivores.
Whose ox is gored is the brainchild of divorce.
It’s important your public don’t forget you
but grasping an asp’s a big ask.
The Song of Bernadette is one to regret to.
The Song of Bernadette is one to regret.
Check out the arms on the marmoset
dossing about with the dossier.
Straight on at the roundabout, roustabout,
that would be your best bet, anyway.
My grandmother was Wellington’s red blood.
All the better to be understood,
the root of the chair is its epigraph.
Have I made myself undermined?
My memory grasps the gore in the bath.