I screwed up: this is the poem Briefly
These laden come to pictures. Rough talk from Fu Manchu about luxury and the eyes of death (registered trademark). Say you live forever, and the friends that love you stay all night. Do you then contain all elements of the proverbial world? And when you drink the last gulp of wine, red as the tearing sound of the very rushed sunset, do you examine the particulars for refute? Is that the berry language when you exist, or did you grow tired like the rest? Your means is only mine as well, because we can care for things that are arranged in our time. Someday will be no day, like sitting on the grass that time (just recently). We have the weight to lift while working on our goals. Fu Manchu directs an interchange of ideas, mostly involved with the world and how to have it. Can we laugh at his antics, and his arch-nemesis as well? They are very determined, and morning remains pale. More talk could help, or the utter misery of sitting by the stone. Either way, we have something to say, and a night time worth of saying.
