***

Oh, Mr. Whiskey, you're a chauvinist, all right.
and a big one at that. Let's get this straight.
He said a good mattress shouldn't write poetry.
Ideally,
he should tell his master all his poems in his master's ear.

And Mr. Whiskey, is it okay
that I'm about to be hated by all the poetical housewives,
and more.
I beg your pardon, I am only a medium,
and I may not share your outrageous opinions at all.
What I bought you for is what I sold you for,
that's how the magic crystal and the frog's foot work.

You forced me to apologize to strangers and hope to be forgiven?
Can you elaborate on the idea of vain scantiness posing as love?
Don't, please,
Mr. Whiskey seems to have a catholic pastor in you today.
Blending cinnamon-- what else would you expect?

I could go on and on about cinnamon.
She was an amazing beauty and a bitch in equal measure.
One of the celestial studs lost on Earth.
But her name translates to Cinnamon.
I can't get away from that.

But I'm not Catholic, I don't need a sermon on the guises of sin.
You should always turn off at the white poplars.
Any other path leads to death in this enchanted forest.
And in the dictionary, poplar is next to Catholic.
It's not absurd, that's what the riverboat bandits said,
After eating a stolen chicken and drinking someone else's wine.
And they needed an accurate map of the area.

I don't take any tours here.
The guides left them in the jungle.
And then all the butterfly jars were crushed in a brutal knife fight,
They crushed all the rare butterflies with their bodies.
And the Caribbean pirate's tattoo turned, at the last moment,
into a cut glass and spoon on the bedside table of a delirious, feverish patient.

Ouija? Were you perhaps hired to copy the books here?
Do you have a hooded robe for that?
But you have to do it in a row, not one page at a time.
Mr. Whiskey liked Cinnamon, I know.
She wore a red kimono and poisoned her husband when she liked someone else.
She was treacherous, jealous and vindictive and never wrote poetry,
thinking it was a waste of time.
And her name was Cinnamon. That's hard to get rid of.

But in a snowy gazebo
We'll eat dirty meat and write clean poetry.
So said another of the heavenly stilettos.
It's true, very funny.

Hide a stone amongst stones, hide a man amongst men?
Do you see what I'm doing? Do you?
You're very observant, because
I don't quite see it.
Let's cloak the truth in fairy tales of the world!
Yes! But I really don't see what you're talking about.
But varnishing is a good idea.
Black varnish always looks sophisticated.
Not always, more often the other way around.
We won't slip back into some kind of nightmare,
Don't worry, Mr. Whiskey, I'll keep us from falling.
Oops. I'm sorry.

I'm kidding. Talking Sock has a mania for graphemes.
Ouija, do you like cuneiform?

Mr. Whiskey also said that mattresses shouldn't try to do psychology and make judgments.
he's a terrible chauvinist at all.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)