Elven Queen Poem by Pierre Rausch

Twelve million miles she forgot
Swivelling in tne mornin fog
The risin walls the dragons lair
There where starts to shiver Leister square
Whoo ooo oo o

Or hand hold over head, when you lean
When images dance across the screen
At about half the storie she would guess
Perhaps a little more these confessed

To grow numb in parade
To the bathroom know. Quiet debate
Or three or four films in a row
Knockin set she would know

The never anything, the I will be you
The Elven queen