in Polish pants, my God, this ancient puppet,
shakes taverns and theaters, with big mouth and crazy laughter.
(a tambourine falls over board)

don't close your eyes, child, is humor at 100 degrees Faren-Celcius (never good at this stuff).
then silence (how awkward)-cri, cri, cri
a giant nose, velvet pants and red lipstick,
the tubular vertigo when rolling with ice skates,
slamming a whole band of singing hamsters-
look at my Russian snow man, Shakespeare in love
multiply this feeling, my sugar dolls and old cranky ladies,
obtain the secret potion (shh, Harry Potter is asleep)
magic, magic, la la la la
life is a pink juice with digestible umbrellas,
witches exist in reality, so far they hide at mcdonalds at lunch breaks
spinning on ponies, carousels and eating white butterflies by mistake
this life it's magic, la la la la
theater, my dear Horatio, life is pure theater (echoing on streets)
@triple trepidation. in the front row. (i'm tired, let's take a nap in my hammock)