We of all the small ones are repulsed
In it we are we and thus and so, yet not we, we wait upon the turning of the tide
In the end the demonoid picotant was needful of a place to sleep. In the end the demonoid picotant slept by we all the small ones.
In the end we wither and gambol.  In the end we horse and play.
Picotent demonoid of we of all the small ones vines up the side of the farmhouse and beside the road, thus and so, we all the small ones made mincemeat of the imperialists coming down the road for our well off men
Mincemeat of mice, the dancing mice, the treaty mice, the bleeding mice, the sparrow, the we of all very small
The alligators, the summers under the moon, the repeating, the obsessed, the needful silence
And then the vast and extremely immutable series of a ltercations of the lords of the land
And the vast and terribly fixed series of changes brought by the alien invaders
And then the large and extremely profound sense of the other inside the communion of we all the small ones
We are all in this world together
Together and alone in this world the very small makes the nests of clay and sinew and we the small make our nests of thoughts and money
On the screens the filtration of the large and extremely vast reality of this world. The filtering out of the demonoid persuasion and the pretend dance of the ever onward march of democracy, and we of all the small ones, or not of the small as the case may be, or as yet not, or so, or see disclaimer, breath of despair
Despairing we draw down the moon for we need more greater supplies of hope and delusion to sustain us.
We of all the small ones, or not as the case may be, of the small, rejoice
Demonoid picotant is taken in out of the cold
And it was ever thus so, never a utopia, but at least they were not burning the globesphere
And we of all the small ones rest into work

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