The conscious senses trouble,
The unconscious quietly hungers.
Got half a dozen,
With each at three quarters.
Seeing double,
He liked how it tasted bitter.
“Experienced all sweet, salty and sour,”
He said, “Bitter I’d rather.”
Writings of a Phobophobe.
The conscious senses trouble,
The unconscious quietly hungers.
Got half a dozen,
With each at three quarters.
Seeing double,
He liked how it tasted bitter.
“Experienced all sweet, salty and sour,”
He said, “Bitter I’d rather.”
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