I wake up in the morning, get something for the pot, wonder why the sun makes the rocks feel hot, draw on the walls, eat, get laid, back in the good old days. Then some dam fool invents the wheel, listen to the whitewalls...
a great bit of poetry that went amiss to most, do you know who wrote this, he's very famous.
When all the topics anyone wishes to write have been covered so wonderfully in the past, why do we continue?
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