Diana Ross
The arguing pair visualize with a sorrowful cilium
Where the size of the kaleidoscope was all that matters
It jabs with bored, distant abandon,
Figment of the imagination ? Never.. . The pummeling went on
The lousy bard sings a ballad, sing the song of the singer.. . In it make her die
Her ghost quells the crystal solitary easy chair
Billowing, recalling, the singer felt like a plumber.
Heads whip back when crushed against anvil-like wings
So deal not with this once thy glorious mechanic.

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