One day I was looking at one fish in particular. His name was Trellip. He has fin rot, but he copes. He swims around a bit and sometimes looks at the giant orange sea cloud called Jeff. Jeff was often mistaken for a hat but didn't mind. In fact, he took it to be a complement! He liked hats, he did. There was a sea volcano nearby called the mighty Petekoa mountain. It kept Trellip company when things weren't going his way. Which in all truth be known wasn't very often. Trellip was an awfully happy fish.
An ancient tower stood tall over the sea bed. There were lots of creepy crawlies.
Being buried alive was pure fantasy until it actually happened. If I were honest I would be lying; in bed with soil on my face some place under the ground. Which is a shame because there are rodents and ostrich funnel receptors.
Industry calls for more, more, more, tea; drinking for thought in a vacant sea. Abbeys of gold in towns of green. Crepe (paper) to touch smooth ice to slip. Toys for sale.
The grass beneath our arms is a becon of incandescent light, obviously arty fictional. Trouble is read by colourblind pupils inside a giant retina at a science museum.