Reciprocal-inhibition therapy

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the rendition played ceaselessly

please sit up and plug into the rest of your evening, it plays.

for dessert there will be fried furballs and lichen soup. salt to taste.

dot the eyes. slash the tees. and throw slanderous errors to the vociferous crowd, which but await upon your doorstep, barking for a piece of fish.

con - cen - trate on the staccato echoing within this narrow band of virgin space.

did we get that? oh yes, i see...

ah-hah! success! and onwards to pcr glory, as the evening falls away from my feet...