1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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