I can be carried on the wind As light as a thistle Or be blown to life For I am a

A trade that requires nimble and fines without a gentle touch this will surely be hard to get unset

A flat one skips by. It used to be rolling, but it’s now old and dry. There’s a temple of pilots after this that don’t fly. Cold after: said so Cold before: creamer why.

C'mon, give up. Fold like a lawn chair. Crumble. Crawl into a dark place of despair. C'mon...

Take my whole and I'm the section where you might find some tubas, Remove my fourth and fifth and I'm a thing to hold your boobas.