1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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