23500
2
Sir Hancelot
dry pupils...
come apart at their muse
everyday past the seams
their barn is open for all to see,
pulling back daisy case spawn
look to their mountains...
　
light back their flame
Oakville through its trees,
A flight of music
fill youre stomach with beans
he liverd on their tropic throne
leave Mr. Hancelot alone
　
ice fishing down to their bone
set apart at ther seams
lady Alabastore flamers resolve
outside ther whip cream smile
through their days of waiting.
listen to ther window
　
He fills up the days,
in the most shallow peak
