Subservient comes the weak-willed wanderer
Witless he pits his pots and ponders. Plants a gram of half-boiled ham and vanishes.
There he goes now, watch him. Watch him go and gander, with a whistle the birdies titter and he minds nothing so it seems. Wears a wand the wanderer. Wears a woolly wand up his jumper, just in case. Join the chase.

Plunders now the witless one. Grabs a stash a sumthin an goes. Off goes he now nothing. Set off by such and such. Somebody said a something so they did. Now we’re all saying somethings or so it seems acause it’s spring so it is. Nice to get out for a bit and blunder, now that they pulled thon cunt out by the root. Rootless now we wander, yeah. Enjoy xo

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Grab a locka nettles and ponce. Grope a loaf in the aisles of a dream. Plant pigsnouts in the hope for homelessness. Offload a shoal of herring down the street there.

Whether you want to or not you’ll waffle, so you’d best make happy while the fine times shine. Waffle all happy while you’re whipping thon pan. Pay no heed to happy-snatchers. Theirs is a grey life that lacks all romance. Ensnared by their possessions with a cocksure sneer, no fear. All faff. Waffle on.