You Think Thats Pol You Breathing?

Ambergris funk. You think that booboo'll be all better now? Wouldn't even let us take a look at the splinter; we'll carry that gangrene until next year, next limb. Which, will win out, rotting from the inside, or lightning? Boned fragments abound. Do you believe it, when you say you don't believe in ghosts? The hair rising on the back of my neck, is haunting; and all those voices are my friends, we'll keep it down.