He Got Milk

In the run of the mill, and the mill of the run, she got milk. She ran, so fast, so furious, she got to the end. We clapped, in hats and whiskers, in joy, in our territory. It was our own, very own, golden medal winner. Shall not! Shall not ever! Shan't! Shan't not! Makes no sense? Well we are a pluralist society go winners and of races. Nothing becomes without us placing the path for it. 

And that, child, is precisely the issue that disrupts it all. That you take the path, not shape it, that you lets others decide, not decide, that your life happens for you, you do not design upfront. So qualm the shall. And stop the shan't. Here. Tonight. Decisive. Life planes. In three landing strips. And all got you to choose. Mega choice. Just make it.