The big winter the big flood.
It’s locked in place, pierced it.
Ticks in it, I don’t know how many.
Fifty-one, probably on the sands.
I don’t know if they have rain dolls.
A fellow from the floods.
No, they don’t. I didn’t think of coming here.
He’s a nice bloke, and he spoke about the floods.
You can’t, very simply, contend with the tindoffer.
I reckon she’s a walk in the dark, for kicking a cork roll.