Some tons of ancient sand circumvent a sewer drain
Do gooders dance the line of the pure and profane
As amber starlight ignites a pacifist abomination
A restless riding crop, the cornerstone of creation
As the eye of the storm reveals a marketing sensation
Spread infectious rumors of silver screen stagnation
Wingspan a mile in all cardinal directions
He polishes off a priceless state quarter recollection
Shag carpet feeds warmth to the blistered soles
Clouds gather in obtuse sexual undertones
The dog was busy overturning every unturned stone
While the cat was preoccupied with thoughts of home
And with the sun half-mast, brakepads broke fast
Seriously delerious footman shuffles past
He was panning for gold in neighboring lands' trenches
Barely composes a sentence, "I know I'm gonna regret this"
A crescent of black ebbs into the frame
Half asleep, barely breathing, eyes flicker like flames
Heard it said dead men tell no tales
But the chalk on the street never seems to fail