if we were to make up our own words
would be completely flotsy
how would you relemate
the avenues of comfide?
yet in each person there is flydom
to conquest drollabeat
to find paths of comfeet
for days of lasting falwin
are we too set in our draffing?
in the hold that dreets us there?
are we left to find comopolous
out of cold, thin draxy air?
i was born in different ramboids
on the shore of dusky trands
but if talk should have more gravipour
perhaps life would be more dran!