I can dream of things that are perfect in the glowing stem of a violet flower that falls apart in the sun that hates the father that beats him up into a careless plane where the birds fly low and call the name of the celestial virgin who's never been laid down upon a down feather bed that reeks of a man who knows not what to do with his flaccid penis that calls for a pussy cat that wants to lay in the lap of the wrinkled old woman who wants to nap on the sofa where the children play with themselves and curl up and die like an angel that blows the horn of all eternity to see the death of humanity and kill the light that once shown bright and kill the laughter that once was loud 'ed like a presidential speech that everyone knows what that means to me and to you to know what is right in your mind to do anything that your heart desires to become a rich man in the mind of the one who knows you all too well..... It's nothing but synapsis
