In my mind a dotted line must be signed or the world may lose it's function.
For it seems that on these knees, the way to day has crossed the bay into the land of malfunction.
In this land the sand has canned all hopes for the abstracts to junction.
My pleads need for me to be the very thing that can cause a dysfunction.
But my mind has cried away the dimes that make up the change necessary for conjunction.