1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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