A sevère man, and me

Look! They fly over the city way below. Look at them fly way up high.

what must they think with all these metres shy, from mountains’ shelter who wear the clouds like scarfs dressed as rich people who say;

’ooh crispy today, nay?’ ‘Look at what Vicky’s doing… one day she’ll be a fine woman’.
‘No! Don’t sail front, I insist!’

’Hmm… when you’d had George over, he’d mentioned she fainted? The overcrowded room had its windows in the floor, you see what I mean?’

‘Aaah we’ll never know…’ and suddenly had a tiny mole.