Tip the scales til the jewels run out splash on the ground like cherry wine. And the tubes come unglued. The palace falls all rat chewed. We view this and approve. It changes the hue of our moods. Malted Manifestos for all. With vanilla powder, I shall scrawl. Mystical pudding beer for everybody here. I shall step into the light as soon as the sun goes down. Bleak giggles, smeared Mask care ah. Tubes plug into the walls and are not sanitary. Medium sized baby bunting. Rebellion of the Bile Gods. Nasal chieftains, Ash storm blocks the sun. Long walks while blacked out on a drunk. The windchime office, the gathering of empty water bottles. Tongues lap holes to escape the walls. The night leaves a fine layer of lipstick kisses overall material objects. Scratch and sniff manifestos.