h a l f b a k e r yA few slices short of a loaf.
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Nighttime sharpens every annotation,
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination,
Silently the senses abandon their defences
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its pastries,
Grasp it, sense it, fresh and warm and tender,
Turn your face away from the cold, hard light of day,
Turn your
face away from cold, unfeeling light,
But you must beware the ‘boner of the night
Close your eyes and surrender to your halfbaked dreams,
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before,
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar,
And you'll bake as you've never baked before
Softly, deftly, others shall caress you,
Hear them, feel them, pride shall soon possess you,
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind,
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight,
But you must beware the ‘boner of the night
Let your mind start a journey into a strange, new world,
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before,
Let your soul take you where you long to bake,
Only then can you belong to the ‘bakery
Floating, falling, sweet pastrification,
Tumescent, butter and flour and inspiration,
Let the dream begin, let your rational side give in,
To the harmony which dreams alone can write,
But you must beware the ‘boner of the night
You alone cannot win this dreadful fight,
Help me find the ‘boner of the night.
[link]
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Heh - he said "boner of the night"... |
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Yeah... I figured that would drag The Great Unwashed, giggling, to the theatre. Culture has to be inculcated somehow, even if that means force-feeding people a dose of yoghurt each day :) |
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Man, don't get me started on an ALW kick :) |
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//cold, hard light of day//, how far away from the Sun are you? |
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A local bakery was broken into recently, in the middle of the night. Just the pastries were stolen. The owner and I wondered at the motivation. |
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The thieves left all of the fishbones behind? Wow! |
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Perhaps we could get Michael Crawford to sing the stage version? |
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Bravo, but I was under the impression 'boner of the morn, was more the norm. |
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[bliss], that would be a sad and lonely place; The Mourning Wood, where the lost souls of the departed search vainly for a toilet, to relieve the pressure of aeons of the need to micturate. |
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Dawn Chorus: "What's the Story? (Morning Glory)". |
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I had forgotten about this one. |
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It appears I found this one late, but a quintessentially UB addition, please sir, have a pastry. [+] |
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