Chubby Larry walking one step every three seconds
To cross his brown kingdom
Past the
Forty centimeters of mine cart
Past the
Festival that lasts from winter to summer
Qlipoth had said
We should build his temple with love
But humans only ever offered rocks and words
Qlipoth had been here
And gave him a sexy pickaxe
He thought it was a secret
He always faced the night deep in the mines, and shouted with his arms up high
Chubby Larry!
He thought he probably wasn't young anymore
Fifty years of song
Sealed away his arms like a mine collapse
Larry of the Broken-Arms!
He embraced the winter like a rock crab and roared
He walked past the silent beach of broken rocks with his draft
His boss always scolded him
With a ring of glory! With the clouds!
Lazy Larry!
He stared at the funeral worm at the corner
And cried in front of them, alone
Larry the Crybaby!
People no longer needed his stories
Using the wanted poster of poverty as silver threads, they sewed his mouth shut
Sorrowful Larry!
But he could still hear
The breaths of flowing ores and the running steps of words
Sorrowful Larry had to live in a portable coffin
Taking out his sincere pickaxe
Folding it into the form of birds he had never seen
And flipped backward twice in overcritical degrees
Mute Larry!
Weaving lyrics in the caves all on his own
He ate seventeen, Soothing Mushrooms
He said, "Wake me!"
And seventeen poets slapped his face
They say, Larry was no more!
Larry had nothing and crossed the Great Mine
Like an iron pickaxe, he was buried in the earth
The passersby never saw this
They just say
A chubby man fell asleep