I Will Pluck The Feathers Right From The Hat

Burn ye not your fingers for they are not chicken fingers they are human fingers. Touch ye not your face for it is your face not someone else's face. Scrape ye not your house of paint because it is new paint, not paint that is old. Hurt ye not your feelings as they are not for hurting but for preserving.



Ah, ye olde world of goode. Twelve after twelve and we set sail at high noon of the night.