The mystics are all on LSD,
all bent over and chanting up the sun.
They got lucky a few billion years ago.
Sun is just angry and wobbles.
Gravity is like black string cheese.
We pushed off with a mighty kick.
Whoosh whoosh of green arteries,
chanting up dirt inside rolling rock,
ears to space between electrons.
Whoosh whoosh hungry noise.
Sun melts a hole in the chocolate
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