Latenight No3

Finally, I can fill a page or two with professions of how beautiful the snow is, how it's what we prayed for and what we were promised from inside the walls of our detention cells. It's so beautiful can you not believe it? I heard it was to keep on falling till the townsmen started calling a-rocking the phones off their places of rest and onto the tile Let's hope that come tomorrow the buildings I live my life in have been totally smothered, blanketed in a white so pure that the angels themselves would take it up as garb after just one look and let's hope that these words aren't just a cry for credit and that I haven't just been spitting slop to fill a page or two, course I haven't even done that yet... Good night, sky Please keep spilling your sh1t till the lunar eclipse; now I'd say that's about a page.