It is midnight hour , of thunder and lightning.
The man is walking alone in rhythms of fear.
Who is there ? shouts the sentry in Elsinore.

Fear is read into midnight ,a book she reads
Differently on her monthly estrogen supply.
Man is scared shit in his macho underpants.

Man walks differently on the fearful testes
And a male violence strikes him differently .
Woman is scared differently in night hours.

Fat man was a second of world’s droppings.
The first was a little boy ,who was thunder,
A lightning bolt on little men and women.

My fat man comes into sleep and a  dream,
I  caught in rhythms of fear ,after waking.
Fat man is an airy nothing , up and above.

A happy hour of hard rock, that is nothing.
Fat man drops, the killer of mocking birds.
My God, what have we done, says the pilot.

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