Oh ho ho and a bottle of heigh Heigh ho the ninny pushed by water and so it goes when she first saw my lips wangled she reckoned by the flay of their stoppage I a recondite deer twittered against the window of winterage and husbanding my land I awful I was the Irish accent of the voice reading Finnegans Wake when a young lad a young ladding and spinny as she was there was no choice between theory and practice and the boat we rowed was like this against the territoried god against the deterritorialized sinner chained in his shackled husks by the sea the sea of alcoholism which made the books of the sea and this what made what we are throttled by night and height we sang the song of rushed trout of boy scouts not cubs hammering down motorcycle hill and I missed my youth and missed yours as well the skinny boy I was spent too many years alone friendless homeless sexless no wonder she was crazed crazy when founded out to the foraged field
Now be my lip O lover of memory
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So the envelope speaks
