Towards Time-crumbs they fly, salivating crows, sparing not a feather for this fable pieced together;
Of fiery tricksters, all pretty rockstars:
Slipshod murmurings of a heart steaming pink, haloed a quater times over with night-bulbs going wink! wink!
....And then to bemoan,
that my spectral star has sped, to gyrate in caustic abondon over planets not my own!
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