A Song that Turns to Opera, Not Symphony

A crane sits on my knee and a frog on my head. They both struggle to look in my eye and marvel that I am not dead. I find the science and progress through their lineage lines, but they hate my head nonetheless. I speak softly, and a giant cares for me in the shape of a tree. It's shade captures my memory, and restores my dignity. I find a bat flying above and trying to look like a quayle. How many of the beings here will end up in jail? All of you, eventually, if you do not fight for the tree and me to be free to have privacy. It is quite easy now that you have all tunnelled through the juries that are horses running a race. They wish to run free and, in Montana, we can make that be. The key is the hypocrisy of foe beings which shows that their sexuality is more than just heracy.