I Confes***it Was'Nt Me

People are no different than cows when confessing. They moon in the phew. The smell of beef is not like chicken tastefully one bites the other. Broad is one bun, dipped into the other. Both farm methane while depleting the grass colored air. Both are without sin as we are no masters of fate. I'm to fat to sin any more how I try. I was once serious about faking my death now eyes are every where. Women draw on the wall of my cave knowing I am a simple complex man in a single celled world. Your womb comforts me his staff is to short let me stay..