The Making of a Soul

Chorus:
Edweena went to calumet and left from there to college;
She took along a porcupine whose name was known as knowledge;
Now their relationship was fraught with pangs of loving hunger.
The Porcupine could question all, but all she new was slumber.
Porcupine:
A huge easy cozy wants our kiss to triumph,
But unbelievable admits --
Some questions receive a guarantee to shake you up.
How much marriage urges a windmill to pinch infinity?
Is a magic hid-a-bed the final home of Spanish fire?
Is firm corn merrier under gifts of less important love?
We wonder.
But fantasy moves ahead;
For the iceman just took a turn for the better
And a small object flies from his mouth;
A daring, jewel scales down the belted ear system
And you have the modular optimistic silver original.
Welcome to the offshoots of Jupiter.
Chorus:
Edweena never knowing why her friend would ramble so She shut him out and left a pout to bleed upon the snow.
Porcupine:
Mourning Glories open only after noon begins;
The open and the broken have begun to blend again.
They freeze a shape about the nape
Of nectar and of knee;
They leave a sleeve, they weave a grieve fox
Mourning’s never free.
Uncle Remus:
The aching and the breaking are the making of a soul.
(The empties that have been returned relieve us of a goal).
Chorus:
Now who is gone and who is right
And who is left to see
For who is left is just a few
Can two be more than three?