you brought me strands of seaweed
in your hair, and a breath of wind blown
from afar, arriving heavy
with sultriness, clung in your tanned body
oh the pure simpleness
of your unshaming embrace
not love, not mere caprice: a cypher,
some shadow of eternity, calm
and inescapable, floating through the soul
and dissolving it in ecstasy, calm
in its spellbinding, so that into forever
the warming winds can bear it away:
of what little measure the world becomes
in your hands
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe!
One green bottle, drop it in the bank,
Ten green bottles, what a lot we drank,
Heaps of bottles, and yesterdays a blank,
But we'll save the planet, tinkle tinkle clank,
We've got bottles, nice percussive trash,
Bags of bottles, cleaned us out of cash,
Empty bottles, we love to hear them smash,
And we'll save the planet, tinkle tinkle, crash
Why are men so good at sleeping?
Is it just the drink?
While we're tossing, turning, weeping,
Why are men so good at sleeping?
Snoring, whistling, grunting, beeping,
No one else can get a wink,
Why are men so good at sleeping?
Is it just the drink?