The part that jars, the doesn’t fit, that irritates, that ties itself up in knots trying to do the best thing, secreting and shuffling and soon soon soon a big old bottle of brandy bigger than any you have ever seen. What now have you seen but three butter gone buys? Floating by. Feather weight, apricot gates and sloppy snot drivelling toast. Through better things come better things better than beaten bedding, better than bringing up babies, better than boring and bull. Brain washed woah hey but not my blood there. Thanks for the sign up sheet grandma, I didn’t need one yet. Yu don’t get it. Something but not ever lend a stocking shit of slitty sides, sliding soft but shitty slits and shuffling shits a killer. Breaking backs not bad not hearts, not disco planes or toffee tarts, single plain white frappe double cream no top, no bra, no fingerless cigar. Everything you hear is rhythm again and white willows wash not skills through mends. Darning socks god dammit, god darn, bittle bad better from the biddling barn.