it's a pleasure to reject.

for pleasure, light all your cassettes on fire.

it's a measure to protect this birthday present from distress.

it's a pleasure to reject the hide-and-go-seek

anonymity of public swimming pools.

it's a measure to protect this like a fragrance.

shut your windows.

happy birthday.

it's a pleasure to reject this distance.

so light up the cassettes.

all of the amateurs are cancelled out

for listening for the dulcet sounds

of the new children's coterie safely singing in the rotary.