It’s a simple spell were you never second in line,
And so much of wrestling is retraining your reflexes.
Habit is to habitat as Barbara is to barbiturates?
That ain’t right.
How’s’about forgetful Sundays and sunbeams shuttled with care?
Fending off fright with complicated confection?
Drumming up support for collective action to counter a century of bad ideas?
Better us than them, as we shuffle into the shadows.
But that which was and will be will be that and that and that again.
But the sky is above you and beside you and below you because the world is round and we’ve known that a long time.
But we’re all tied up with exceptions upon exceptions.
But most tables and chairs, but fingers, but the seasons, but surely more.
There were so many and we make it fewer so you can deal with it.
Will there be ease? Will there be whipping?
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