Commodity fetishism blowdries the drone-skies that you don’t like

And that’s no dice for slow-dancing in the romance of the dark, fine

But at least remember that when you die that the dews sliced up between

The headlice in your bed and the fine, print.

And the dying prince has considered this a fine fit.

The tangents between i’m not like other girls will kill you

And the willows in the trees aren’t any other blacksmith

For the mildew, there i said it and mailed it for the exit.

But for brexit and between you, this is not a ween off for your own crew

Just a warning for things that you are about to go into.