Pacos dar­ling,
what are you doing in my beans ?

or where will you go in the twilight
before the fair?

The ques­tions hang on the mur­der tree;
the leaves chal­lenge fear.

Pacos, your place on the trig­ger wish
is the committee’s strength;

we’ve known this
for three safe but dull years.

Where might we go tomorrow
and to whose crib when someone’s out ?

The fair needs your swift arrival
for the need­ed, long-await­ed shift.

With no sun light in prospect,
what will you plant there, Pacos ?

Should we run to our lawyers
or join the law in a bust ?
 

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