Birthday.
Our sire from heaven spoke and spat into oblivion.
His seeds cultivated eggs speedily mating in beds.
Abundant wives would sometimes spell disaster.
The lost children would forever search,
their sires beginnings that can never be reached!
Mother earth remains and seldom complains.
Till the diggers shoved lanes into her very veins.
Precious parts squandered in terrible plunders,
the young had developed their mothers sick habits!
Coughing and erupting in sores and destruction.
The more they took,the whores of kings and crooks!
Every infection had reactions for good or ill attractions!
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