High. Middle. Low. 
I think the word is syncopation. 
I must go slow. 
I want to do away with class. 

A wail. A vocal run. 
It's a matter of emphasis. 
Casting nets to catch the sun. 
Clicking instruments. 

High. Middle. Low. 
Nonsense and stumbling. 
Truth has no place to go. 
I have put aside my delusions. 

Undetectable but remembered. 
Cloven-footed was never trustworthy. 
I am capricious. I have bled. 
High. Middle. Low. 

Dry grass catches quickly. 
I know all the songs by heart. 
That's how I grow. 
We have passed the test of profitability. 

The rest is cream.