Sir BellsofBaldBalladBirds

Sometimes and some of those days I wander through feathers with this man, mostlike and moisture meaninless of means/ a wisely silent and unhuman face, the eye the choice and the clicks of a lamb, whisperwhistleworthy, a dimedroning voice, a father in earth. The organ hums, piano-on-voicerecorder, a bit of castrat-singing on the parochial mic (sorry for my theft, couldnt leave it..), toy glockenspiel and some coffs I didnt repress. Pies Gurbah