Do my eyes deceive me, or is it truly creamy? Far too rigid at first light, by noon I'll be just right.

Damn Yankees gotta have it. Mary Martin's belonged to daddy.

In the hand of the wise, I dance on a page, Mistakes I conceal, with silent stage rage. A swipe of my grace, and errors take flight, Leaving the canvas blank, pure as the light.

Once worn on heads of bad eggs in corners. On necks of best friends, to prevent the gnaw, sorry, doctors orders. A deadly snail, although slow, likely pierces into toe. A cold treat hold. Flipped its in the road. A pronounced voice distorter.

What did Tennessee? The same thing that ...