Jingle Jungle, all the way the pavement is cracked
and the holes are stacked in the wrong direction that
the water rolls, solid gold shoals waiting for soild shirt ships
to strike and take on heart flutters and slink down among the place
where snails pace back and forth guarding a horde of mongrel magic
fastners, tying the klookmops to the yakstaks in the cabinet out behind
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