Daft has ceased to be. It's expired and gone to meet it's maker. It's stiff, bereft of life. It rests in peace. If I hadn't nailed to it's perch, it would be pushing up daisies. It's metabolic processes are now history. It's off it's twig. It's kicked the bucket. It's shuffled off it's mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir. Daft is an ex-parrot.
