Because what’s not to love? They make such supple yet enduring cushions for the pushin’; they are redolent of that embryonic oblivion during which we cuddled under mother’s bosom, innocently guzzling colostrum from her teat.
Run o' the Mill, Human Garbage
"I am not like the 'gods'! That truth is felt too deep; A worm I am. That in the dust doth creep."
Because what’s not to love? They make such supple yet enduring cushions for the pushin’; they are redolent of that embryonic oblivion during which we cuddled under mother’s bosom, innocently guzzling colostrum from her teat.