Carved, on a hunter's rock:

I smiled a private grin before the Golden One left.

It just might mushroom into something more noticeable it might not.
Who wants a sign? We do we do we do they say.

Hey, a handshake is tasteless, do you care.


How seamless the knee-hurting and back-burning pilgrimage is.
Put it on the wooden table, the golden statue, how proud are we, we will win it some other time.


You're my backbone, you're my backbone.

-

Yes I thrive in the eyes of the silly and ease-minded!

Erase me I will care as soon as you leave again but let's wrap this up so you can leave,
overbearing beet.