The sick men of the northern desert do not slumber to the eyeball.
Because they pet their logic to sleep in the day
And let insanity keep them company at night.
They were the fathers of their own failure.
They were men with sizeable sweet tongues
Lashing the innocence of all ages as they rub the small wombs in Atampa
Because Culture crowned Shadda
They continue to widen the wilderness of their woes.
Until Atampas wore Jeans
And the fate of their yummy tongues rested in the dust.

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