Throat clear

Beaten up and broken sided, long ago you were divided. He said I miss my wire act, my fruitful lack, rug patch and sad sack. Oh we didn't realize it did we, that everything would be read, the long tail roll call, by no one at all, this long holler into an empty drum, full of it, tossed by it, plucking its whiny thrum. So "the ants have megaphones" and their opinions are clones, rushing water on my eyes has got me stoned. Auditory hallucinogenic psychosis too long at the screen and the threat so long as you're sitting is deep-vein thrombosis.