Burn all the bridges and sever the ties,My flounce fang lovers indulging a crime, Vim vanquish vigor, long-suffer, my suitor, The cinders of rhyme, the cinders of time.
Who doesn't dare now: seize what he's after? I ponder in line. I ponder in line. All in the fire (the tropes here that utter) are tired of trying and gurgling wine.
Quiet desperation, my mass of men brothers, Caught in the net of suckle-me blind, Souls sell for shillings by hour and number, Tuck me entwined; construct social fines.
And luck, can I have it? So wretched so plundered, Get thee behind; get thee in line.
I quit. I quit. I quit. I quit.
The grand revolution: seize what is mine, And hold the world over, those piss piddled swine.