Let us criticize the cabbage. I'm drowning
in it. Send for the doctor—no, wait!
Send for the actor, by all appearances
the most hump-worthy. It's a slice of life
to tide you over, overseer.
Yet how shall we becalm
the dawn's collapse? If one were to atone
against the grain of such an accusation,
where would one squirrel away the time?
Some call this ruse a rhyme,
others a lost industry, though to speak up now
would be a pickled revenge, albeit a cool one.
See you in the sanctuary—
nothing amazeballs this way comes.
Plenty of fish to fry under the sea
have come to tee us off at the quayside.