Masochistic at night and omnipotent by day the tyrannical child king of a neutral country whose arsenal only serves to palliate the brigades who stand firm by a frontier of glass whose court ball consists of threefold blindfold dewlap dancers who rave by their sacrificial strass
all contributions gratefully retrieved they don't have to be seen to be believed the walls of this palace are paper thin get close enough to write and you'll listen in but there's bugs on the walls planted from within
king of the world suicidal god of his own microcosmos where all black holes are filled and no bangs are big 'cept the one that brought him there that pushes him away king of the world of ideas
it all goes by so fast nothing that slips past and if it does slow down stars would gather 'round and vaporise the ground his body will be noise and his mind be sound
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