In a scene of a childlike destruction, of flying stone and brick dust the dripping found its way to their well hole and need I go on...
The sail boats lashed on the waves began to untie themselves from their mooring as the moon threw sapphire's down on the puppeteer's stand.
The drunken and deformed chocolatier thrashed the children's backs with a burning snake as the fathers and mothers dug the holes in preparation. Oh the times are somewhat macabre....play me thy flute and mould a serpent to strike at the face of Jupiter.
Yet not far across the meadow, the gathered in their winter attire skated on a lake of frozen absinth....do not yet waste a drop.
As the artificial light from the moon glistens on their tinsel, a lonely stargazer walks into the waves.
