In we go.
And we go to the bottom of the barrel
And we can’t see that
These things, they are remiss.
In fact we’ve missed them
Completely,
At the bottom of the barrel.
Seeking isolated circumstances,
We can’t take these chances,
Saturated
In the poem of the barrel.

At the bottom of the atmosphere,
A dancing, rippled hydrosphere.
The surface of the hydrosphere
Is a surface of the atmosphere.
Water water everywhere,
It holds the air, it is the air.
Gravity, buoyancy,
Flotation, and the awkwardness.
Remover, Remover, Remover, Remover.

And its so.
As we aim for the center of the target
Our tongues are too short.
Its thread, it is remiss,
It makes a mess and
Our gaze is,
Down the center of the barrel.
Delightful carving this bewildered text,
We accept this state of mindlessness,
Water-logged
In the poem of the barrel.

And if we miss the point
Then we might all collect.

(Grammarian.)

As if removal makes,
It makes them all connect.

(Grammarian.)

And with these heavy hands
We know we are suspects.

(Grammarian.)

At the bottom of the atmosphere,
A dancing, rippled hydrosphere.
The surface of the hydrosphere
Is a surface of the atmosphere.
Water water everywhere,
It holds the air, it is the air.
Gravity, buoyancy,
Flotation, and the awkwardness.
Remover, Remover, Remover, Remover.