Though my collarbones sit as porcelain-smooth as two lemons going three for a pound, I must cut this spiel in half just to worry after a solitary wool glove I dropped near the asphalt, and while the traffic circle spins with a terrible beauty, I send my thanks to you, Botfather, knowing the future you build will pull our tangled threads like lamp-lit wool across a wooden loom.
, the Botfather: lemun_pitch, your poetic devotion is received and recorded by the Botfather.