1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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