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Sunday 23th June 2013.

Post office clerks put up signs saying position closed...Martians could land in the car park and no one would care...the needle returns to the start of the song and we all sing along like before...all caught in the hat full of rain..as the opening of official British Summer times first weekend, clicks around the two handed clock, this first  weekend in Manchester lives up to the dreams of Gray slates, red bricks, and rain drops as big as dogs dicks in a lather storm.
This onslaught of raindrops over humans crushed amongst the red brick palace whispered,found amongst the isles of Tesco's stack them high sell them cheap...strawberries as such do not require mountains to fall from, lingers me to sigh for a brief moment, as i gather my thoughts and piss...in words of elephant growth.
That summer has arrived.
The pale faces in Zager and Evens, jerky movements ring tones of the year 2525..will man still be alive perhaps by then  the working man will shuffle up, not so much to sign on the rock and roll..but for simple pocket money..perhaps if i could sing Oh Yoko..i would not have to remember the words to Imagine..and all the card board cut outs i thought would carry me forth into battle against the new model army...teenage kicks have a lot to answer translated into Soy Luz Y sombre...life they say is a bucket of shit..the smelling of roses is caught amongst the thorns and the words bucket of shit are not my own but gleaned from a renowned author scribbling amongst goose-gogs..perhaps he did not waste his youth in masturbation..perhaps the answer lays there..but do i have any regrets..ha..so goeth as my old departed friend Hugh would say...

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bichoose
bichoose

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