Her King of Coney Island is about to lose his throne/ To Princess Smart, whose royal art/ Is causing Prince to moan./ A bird addict cannot predict who might fall from the sky,/ A rich princess or feathered mess might coo-coo by. And bye.// Free for now, not for long, save a dollar, sing a song.
A zillion years ago, in the tiny spaces of my tiny mind, tangled yarns confused. O come! Come, reader! Join me as we -- characters all -- snip to clip the endless loop of interior consternation. Come, reader!