Sprinkets on The Weekday Account

Welters Kilters Cabby.

The Weston breeze sits flowing. It mirrors and lapses. He cannot glance but look at himself. Drying, wet, and damp. It’s a few! Anyway.

Boots climb and they climb. They fall about and wince. Lets find the new romance in all this. Lets dance the night away.
Someday.

It is afternoon and the trains don’t run. They run and run on the inside. They melt and they fond. Meaning the emotions find themselves and somehow make sense.

Is it dought or oblong or a ping pong ball to the head. It’s a surfer. Nats it’s a rebel. Of some type.

Cassettes roll around and on the floors and I can’t imagine the voicing that presents itself on the thruway. It’s not this weeks top of the pops or the cang drinks made in all those bars. It’s the swelty insides that pour none but invisible lixor. It catches and it pops. The pop drinks make the sound and all around is stealthily heard!.

One roll and one more of the drum beat. Or the drum machine. This scenes got the holt and the stolt of all time. This time in Britain Australia has never been like this before. A mighty glass and a mighty tall emphor of all time. The songs get caught and all gets lapsed up and all this and that before. I can’t imagine all that might not have been. A dusty breeze! and a all out breezy!  The mellow shall calm and the mellow shall fraom.

Hello and Welters kilters cabby. I’ve a new disc or cassette. It’s up and up he said.

Flowing by and all mysteries. The incense burns and so does the cola. Wincing!.
Bling!.

Time goes by and time goes by! It’s not the situation but the mood cabby. I’ve got a plane to catch and all that!

Discoteques and dances.
Might they pervade and pervade fast. I’m on the move!.

Move to the center and move to the right!.