How they carried that log on the backs of seven horses,
Through a needle's eye, and across the thirty-nine
worm-infested lands,
Through somniferous fogs, through wandering dry forests,
Through drowsy villages, through sour blind rains,
Through waterfalls of mushrooms, through bottomless deaf fields
Through crumbling mountains, through gaping stinking mouths
Along layers of wood, along anxious
bustling leaves
Along underground passageways, along blubbery
pimply cheeks.
In the beginning was the word.
In the beginning was the word.
All words are bullshit!