Intellectual giants dwarfed by commercial materialism in an impressionable kingdom where authenticity is stigmatised and complexion is figuratively scrutinised under the microscope, literally under CCTV.
Sadistic Producers of The Trueman show pulling the g-strings behind the scenes. Figment of my imagination? Perhaps.
Skirts as contemporary trousers sewed by Suffragettes.
We're not in Kansas anymore, sublime thoughts rain as I can see clearly now that the brandy is gone.
"I have a dream," living nightmare, momentary lapse hopefuls banking on recession proof avenues namely Camelot.
Prince charming relentlessly courting Lady luck, unlike Disney endings, deja vu beginnings.
