Weather sun spots or the Cosmos or a train wreck by the heartless in the excommunicated realm of life.  The actions always bring reactions and some meaningless attractions in that little shield that hangs upon the wall.  Electronically divided from a world that’s undecided what’s the language here that everyone will know.  Even pictures are deceiving when it’s google that’s retrieving from the searching down a dark and dreary hall.  The series of tubes has spread out wider and become the great divider to manipulate the masses from afar.  No need to be ungrateful for it starts to seem like fate, Fool, and it’s better than you driving in your car.  Rupert wants a horse.

The value of some perception remains a deception from green to rosy red, anytime it seems you see, they tell you that your dead.  No wonder that it’s frightful when it could be so delightful just funny in its stead,  anytime you question me I’ll laugh inside my head.   Rupert likes to rhyme.