This is a rime song.

This is a rhyme song, blowing kisses to the merchant factories, I explore the meaning of meaningless. Ships spell themselves under the matchsticks, and I forgot to explore the F**** (focal) points and feelings. I cannot match this foolishness. Why are we happy to go to sleep when the bombs fall on the children of creeps. They fight no one's birthright. Happy, giddy, little wise men give their own tickles to the pig pen - soups cry on morning doves and know that single women are epitomes of single loves. How can we remind us of life beyond the single meaning of worry and time, going further to find. Why have we created this kind

Of [a] Mind, today.