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The smell of hell has come to sell
The burgeoning desire of flesh and metal

The hunters of the hunted become the hunted
Themselves
By a superior race

Crush the flower
Under your foot

In all of Oz there is no wus
Like the short-tailed flatbilled duckypus
It hides among the jub-jub trees
Playing card games with its fleas
Then when it's lost the final hand

She learnt that she was not stupid nor thick; just crazily mad!

Her sad duty done

The allotment field was made of leeks and cabbages, of abundant verdant spinach, of broad beans not yet in flower. Of brambles and tufts of grass.

colours within cloudy gray.
Below, a fishing village

In ancient times a chicken, or even a goat, would pay dearly for this level of precipitation.

How do you end up with nothing? It’s not as hard as you might think. It’s surprisingly easy, in fact. Well, it was for me.

I will cry tonight
Not for what happened
But for what happened had to happen.
I will cry tonight
Not for I miss you
But for I can’t tell you how I do.