Midnight melody

The chicken squawks at midnight!
Unbeknownst to her that moths sigh on their flight.
As she plummets upwards towards the moon in her nuclear bathtub,
The sky crumbles and reforms despite of receiving a nice tummy rub.
But the liquid herpies only effect fluffly bunny marshmellows, proving her hairstyle wrong.
While the hungry go without yellow jello, never has a chicken’s fear of weightlessness been so strong.
Unless the paths of the six sporks crosses a freaky Mexicans eyebrows in the june snow.
The goats would moo until the matriarchal piglet came back with seven mango frogs in tow.

by Gazza and Ritchie