It's Quite the Quaint Life

All I need is to ride with the whales.

I fly with the birds,

But the birds are dead

I saw a child, crying, on the side of the road.

I went up to him, and there was a scar on his face.

I kept walking.

Today was my birthday,

I turned another number,

Wonderful.

Rugs and hardwood,

stained with milk and honey.

Causing ants to infest the house.

I'm allergic to ants.

What a quaint life we have.