Salt and gold rain down from the sky,
a catcher in the rye.
I stop children from falling from the cliff
off of this field, oh but only if,
It can be like this forever,
To be the life over death lever.
Spinning on the carousel
I hear a rather strange hoarse bell.
Climbing off the bus I see
an ice mirror from tree to tree,
a glaze of milky solid glass
coated like cream over the grass.
I stand in mid street.
and see some houses geometrically neat,
I see a girl step out a door
and feel my heart fall down to floor.
For she looks strange and alien
with a vacant look as seen in aboriginal Australians.
I see a scar upon her cheek
and instead of mouth she has a beak.
But she looks like a friend I have...
Yes, I consider myself my friend.
-Pamplemousse
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