fig.6) simple as pallbearers "She's not very nasty is she? Instead, she seems to be transformed by language and it's osmotic character." Tis toil and toil for dust alone. Birds in the vacuum that won't shut up. They squawk about their guns. Can't sleep with the vacuum on. Can't sleep when I sit. Maybe, I'm too clever for this? Sift softly, the humble beginnings of science's toil, it's ring of equivalency, the mechanism of culture's boisterous metric. The boon of its breast and all. This flower, that flower and over there, that one too. These flowers, they're not so hard to reach. They're still young and fresh, well held in the sponge of this dirt. Time is only spent well when it's well and truly spent, the birds know this. They know that laundry is a plaything, lunch is only a friend. Little bird is being a bitch now, "But I'm ok, sometimes I beat the ground with my fists. I'm tired but that's ok t...