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[00:01.89]Bedraggled angels blethered
[00:09.77]Across Eleven Acres
[00:18.14]As belling from the bwoneyard
[00:27.46]A-rangled round the archet
[00:45.05]Her fingernails a-ripped
[00:47.74]From hauling clay-filled fists
[00:49.70]Out of the river's edges
[00:52.57]For pots with happy voices
[00:59.62]Conzum-ed with twanketen
[01:02.78]That's only eased by scratching
[01:05.43]Whisp-words slim as thistles
[01:07.58]Or a sickly chicken's whistles
[01:10.81]Seem an I a childhood
[01:14.94]Of quartere'il and wormwood
[01:19.83]Of not-friends running nowhere
[01:24.32]Of vog a-veiling elsewhere
[01:36.66]Till in the vaulted barn
[01:39.17]Queer-lit by dummet zun
[01:41.26]She knew herself a vessel
[01:43.61]Fit for a different wordle
[01:54.77]Where footsteps must be lwone
[01:57.73]And barefoot upon stones
[02:00.20]And the northwind's ever-host
[02:01.54]Gives edges to the ghosts
[02:05.82]Seem an I a childhood
[02:09.68]Of quartere'il and wormwood
[02:14.99]Of not-friends running nowhere
[02:19.20]Of vog a-veiling elsewhere
[02:23.82]Of mother's voice not-calling
[02:28.23]Of corrugated iron
[02:33.02]Of devil's birds and whiskey
[02:37.11]Of chilver hogs and fleecy
[02:41.60]And nuts I could not reapy
[02:45.77]And nuts I could not reapy
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