Whispers to Scottland Yard Crew

I wind my way through the city and find myself here.  You are a lord at the gate and parliment is definitely in session.  They call for you to have twinkle toes.  Your guardmate brings thru the New York City Ballet.  He met a young dancer yesterday.  Maybe he should keep his paws in his pocket before the hounds are released completely.  Smell this shirt.  She is a flirt.  Kill her in the morning when the light is just right.

Your thoughts are morbid and your veins are turgid.  I invite you in, but your sense is devoted to dominance of the Democratic Party.  A panther may come in to view and chase your heartrate up to 170.  Be verbose about people you know and keep your subject away from me.  You are permanantly angry about Muncie.  It makes no sense and you believe wrongs are right against me and only me.  Well time is about to be a memory.  Keep your feet in the cement in NYC and an double amputation is near.

I try to work with a vision forming every day.  I know that I am not welcome in any colony.  I know that police love the pain that they cause me.  You are all demonry, thus no academia or artistry will come from yee.  You all will never be pretty or thin.  You have no idea the trouble you are in.   You set your tazer to laser and you walked away.  Eating while working is wizardry.  I learned of this early.  Coroners will not come here.  When the bodies hit the floor, it will be ambulances that drive them away and take them whereever they feel like it that day.  The body count will always be blamed on police.  That is the Bloomingon Police Department.  No investigation, only jail time.  It all goes through the IA of Scottland Yard that day.  Bobbies are on their tippie toes today.  They have a love for what I say to royalty every day.  I do not pick up the line.  They are demonry since the beginning of time.

I guess my mind is in the foothills of the Hylands today.  Nessy nestles a youngling in the Loch Loaman chain.  I love the imagery of she with a loving one at her side.  She will never be a bride, but now she is a mystical birth mother for eternity.  It is scarey in that other realm.  It is time for her and her tiny being to step into reality and be an imagisaur in body.  Matter really does matter.  It is okay.  You can call her Hope if you want to.  Gorrilla's agree I have mystery and grace.  They love my permanantly pale face.