I'm toasted, roasting your fellow synonyms,
chewing skin off naked limbs,
sufficient whims commingled with nutrients.
Regarding me, won't you indulge?
Prithee! go dissolve a wicked gin,
for rum wouldn't fit your argument..
howbeit could, peradventure circumvent.
Now history methinks, is an unnecessary swagger,
its a dagger that matters too well in whisper,
perhaps a spear might rustle mire fine,
ifsoever, whistling these sentences aside.
Aye, she overwhelms naive speech,
therewithal, our clueless words are terse,
its their verse which nurses a degree,
me - swigging usquebauch,
she rustling, in one cups' merry.
