Yodellers

THE DEATH ROW YODELERS
LAST YODEL

10 years of death row depression shits on my soul. 10 more years and
my soul will surely shrivel away and die. As I sit cocooned in by
melancholy misery, I compare the impending death of my soul with that
witch awaits my sick penis. The only lull in this line of thought is my
brains death sentence, after two painful reprieves might come
aboutfirst. And I'm more fucked off than ever.

Awaiting the violent death throes of brain death on death row, life
sucks. Imprisoned by visibility, given to me, by your peep show
perversity. Pondering - 'is my corpses penis to be labelled morally
unworthy of life, to justify my dead bodies usage in your pedestal of
perfection.'

Fucking bummer man. In the morality stakes politically correct
etiquette kicks human life up the shitter every fucking time. The
ugliness of this monopoly on morality is in 'its' ability to cloak
death row deaths, and the grief of those who'll grieve. To get a
reprieve I'll have to state my case, to state my case I'll have to
swear to emphasize the shittiness of my fuck ridden predicament. So I
swear, so I'm branded an abusive goby cunt who deserves death on death
row. And I'm still more fucked off than ever!

Meloncholy madness aside life has the potential to be fab. So I try to
step aside this 'madness' and step into the trail of my cerebration.
The crime, being in possession of a sick penis. The sentence - Death on
death row, isolated for this crime against humanity. My judged mind
considers escape. Well would you settle for spending the entirety of
life on death row. Would you fuck.

Bamboozled and bolloxed as the 'escape committee' turn out to be
jailers in a variety of disguises. Gutted, but not beat. Fuck 'em I'll
start me own tunnel, Ha! My only tool as it turns out is my old foe and
cellmate melancholy madness.

Together and alone on planet earth space testical. We
decide to tunnel through time. Destination anywhere but here. Starting
point - paradox city, my broken minds space time continuum. Broken by
brainstorms and deceitful skulduggery, I use my psyche's inner eye to
see possible paths to freedom.
This inner eye known to me as an J.A.P.S EYE NAVIGATION SYSTEM, maps a
way to freedom. Maybe. The plan I code name jolly old penis stylus.
Why? Why not. Anyway the thesis to the blue print of my escape plan, is
that there is no plan.Only a tapestry of philosophy weaved by my
melancholy madness into hieroglyphics co-ordinates that transcends my
jailers 'equitable' equilibrium.

Hieroglyphic co-ordinates, sort of. The cosmos is eternal both in the
past and future. It's also alive, man. Alive with life. Pan dimensional
soul stars who explore THE final frontier - existence.

Fuelled on our minds, our minds fuelled on your own soul stars
sentience. Its sentience the equinox of your being. At this centre the
gravity of 'being' tugs on the eternity that is the cosmos. Warping
energy in the form of time around and through the many aspects of your
soul. Causing the explosion that is life, as we know it.

Were the friction of were the past and future collide in this
'universal warping' is stabilized by your soul stars gravity to create
the illusion of matter. Were there's matter there's soul. The abstract
entity that is planet earth space tactical, its matter time
sediment.

Fuel for the matter of the soul stars who visit this
dimension of existence. When our flesh dies our soul drops out of
earths time streams. Time streams, we all generate our own. To escape
I've got to tunnel out of my time stream by placing 'stepping stones'
in earths time stream. From witch I can do my death row yodel.

Hoping that aided by earth's time streams my death row yodel will etch
its way through time. Until the gravity is such that it sucks in an
'get away tunnel'. That will in turn, suck me free. And in return for
this escape to freedom, fanny poems to promote the value of life on
earth a plenty.

What better way to say bollocks to the absurdity of political
correctness. P.S No fanny no escape, no escape no fanny poems. No fanny
poems -GLOBAL GENOCIDE!

THE END

Written by D.A WILLIAMS