All can’t be well that ends well
If never the twain shall meet

Is the bugle calling shell shock?
…falls on deaf ears

We’re mostly there aren’t we
In the high percentiles in fact
You the mandrake man-eater, sort of like a flame
Me, easy as an apple , and air

But behind the fairground swings the carnies are making for the woodline
Like animals fleeing before a fire comes

Even so, we’ve got all those tokens stuffed in my jeans
What the hell, let’s go round one more time

Don’t be shy, pass the coconut

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