And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust. Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed. Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning…
And when she comes to you,
She come to you in-between the space of grace and madness
Mad hatter happy mixed in Dali Da Vinci grandness.