I trudge the sludge of finite life
whence ether was adorned;
with both fudge and grudge in sight of strife
hence never to ebb mourned...
...masses give and masses take
to cap off weight limits
I'd rather live and always brake
for hapless pedestrians...
...then slip the rip past oral spine
and loathe the breath of men.
To cheat myself of birch and pine;
on high borne refreshment...
Would be of sin the likewise same
that perfection is accused
or learn ambiguity's scotch name
fore weened off skein of youth.
So drink it high and smoke it down
It's all oil and flames in end
think it right whilst know it wrong
yet still [these] lies you've penned.
