Who do you frighten? What’s that under your fossil cap? Coal for brains? Oceans may drown us before the wind gets an answer. Long straw or short straw, what’s it to be? Stuffed with murmur-weed and doch-weed you’re quite the sight, all right. A currawong could peck out your eye soon as blink. Your pent-up cost-all or nothing gambit, it won’t save the farm. Gale forces swivel your stick-in-the-mud. Yet still, eyeless gazer, you point the wrong way. Smirking [scarecrow], you can’t stop the weather. Do you feel the burn? Your eastern seaboard’s on fire. Get back to us tomorrow.
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