So, as far as plans, 
where are you leaning?  
Are you going to take care of this issue soon?
The leaning tower of penis.

Or is it the leaning tower of pizza,
With the globbed heart strings of it
Tugging at your very core, about to topple,
The slobby sandwiched cheese sludging off it
Infinitely.  The disgusting dough calling
Your name and and Beeming through.

Pop pop, like ice cube trays and sugary sun rays.
On the isle of man, I'm a true man, getting a tan,
And I've a plan, for making the Sandman's trochanter
To disintegrate and die, and his legs will break off.
I'll roll around in'em and on'im, leading my pearl 
Laced red glimmering particles to flurry around and coat
The earth, naked but in black heels.


There's a rumour of a tumour going down in the town,
And in the matter of the hatter I like the former street Corner,
Where I do my booze and pass it up, and light the crack rocks slow
Like diamonds in the rough.