I still search, for sparks and plugs
Running from, the tramps and prog
Sailing towards a fleet of slug;
But the sea, wants golds to snug
Spring to spring; in a farm of trug
Even the sprug; still gets it wrong.
That is why; my chest needs hug
But, their bodies turn me to mug
Inside which; is a holy pug.
Holy temple, turn to thug
Lost in sin, it makes me a tug
Now I am; heavy pack of lug,
I still search all through the fug
Broken and healed by the shrug
Till I am fit, like butchers dog,
Not for bones; but rose, I dug
On my tongue, yet they came as glug
Sweet and sour, with so many chugs.
I hid heart inside a vug
Preventing it from light and songs
Bees in skirts, and dampen logs
Wait a while to make it long
Maybe to kill these growing bugs
Perhaps pluck almogs with jug.
Or to end these cold and fogs
What I search for; is just a drug
Sweet mistake in kissing frogs.
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