A Space Issue

500 spaces to clear my thumb, the more I say it will go numb. Slippedy-slidin’-down the slope, drag the drifter and bag the dope – until yeh run out that is. In and out of words with a pinch of genius solely for your comfort. But when you pass that line of lush well where will yeh go? Lullabies no longer linger and sleep is sweet no more. Play that song again child, the same dream encore! No such luck, really must go, run out of space forevermore. This ends here