Day Two Caravanu disposes of my Moses tendencies and allows light gay and bright
To smite the hell demons who pursue us in our sandy passage to a place more palacial
Than Saint Peter's in Rome, as we are gone there with hopes to find buried truths
Said in sooth proclivities rainbow even no gold pot or oasis be made in a day
Yet you can sit behind me as we bob along the sub-Saharan way headed home.
Home caravan trails across the mysterious losses of boys who once followed Rome
Later sensed a greater slavery trade was going on beneath the biretta in the gloom.
His room, away a continent and a lifetime now, pedaled bikes to his door
Entered in and never left any more, for sure, never left until we'd be whores.
I entered the street life and there through misfortune found wealth and freedom!
It was the caravans that took us to the secret farms and secret stables where men
Like cattle were being bred for special missions seriously dead to their own selves
Not lying not never ever lying about anything one must then be silent or reveals
Of major truths which are the secrets personally hidden in envelopes of stashed
Cash and other powdery substances, enough to foul Rimbaud and Proust syntactically!
Come with me.
I invite you.
Request the next secret steps to find what the Roman Curia and the Mystical Sea
Hide from thee!
Some bright star leans askew with rays of brilliantine lamae splashed upon the
Milky Way as a sort of mirror in the sky of why, when, whereform and how we escape!
No date. No palm. No logic. No foam. No loam. No home. We're all gone, not
A single house-trailer, double-wide or extra-wide to be seen...'tis a caravanu
Sans molestu, apres vous, le primidi fantastique pour chance oblique! Quick!
Tout suit! Vite! Vite! Mush. Mush. Hut. Hut.
Nut case rides the plains seeking fame's door while virginal liquid
Could spare the horses another day another round, down town, where the lights
Are all gay! I remember the first day a preacher said that word to me!
I stood up and handed him a yell, a rebel yell, and Caravanu Entransallata
Leapt from my loins onto the prism of my canvas, from tubes of oil paints,
To smite the hell demons who pursue us in our sandy passage to a place more palacial
Than Saint Peter's in Rome, as we are gone there with hopes to find buried truths
Said in sooth proclivities rainbow even no gold pot or oasis be made in a day
Yet you can sit behind me as we bob along the sub-Saharan way headed home.
Home caravan trails across the mysterious losses of boys who once followed Rome
Later sensed a greater slavery trade was going on beneath the biretta in the gloom.
His room, away a continent and a lifetime now, pedaled bikes to his door
Entered in and never left any more, for sure, never left until we'd be whores.
I entered the street life and there through misfortune found wealth and freedom!
It was the caravans that took us to the secret farms and secret stables where men
Like cattle were being bred for special missions seriously dead to their own selves
Not lying not never ever lying about anything one must then be silent or reveals
Of major truths which are the secrets personally hidden in envelopes of stashed
Cash and other powdery substances, enough to foul Rimbaud and Proust syntactically!
Come with me.
I invite you.
Request the next secret steps to find what the Roman Curia and the Mystical Sea
Hide from thee!
Some bright star leans askew with rays of brilliantine lamae splashed upon the
Milky Way as a sort of mirror in the sky of why, when, whereform and how we escape!
No date. No palm. No logic. No foam. No loam. No home. We're all gone, not
A single house-trailer, double-wide or extra-wide to be seen...'tis a caravanu
Sans molestu, apres vous, le primidi fantastique pour chance oblique! Quick!
Tout suit! Vite! Vite! Mush. Mush. Hut. Hut.
Nut case rides the plains seeking fame's door while virginal liquid
Could spare the horses another day another round, down town, where the lights
Are all gay! I remember the first day a preacher said that word to me!
I stood up and handed him a yell, a rebel yell, and Caravanu Entransallata
Leapt from my loins onto the prism of my canvas, from tubes of oil paints,
