its of often Have And breathing. what, I through Yo! the smell
of trout in my grasp Am quick to proclaim a triumphant "Eureka!"
my unyielding path is yet crossed by the lowly Moose of Failure.
Oh, let us seek refuge in Antigua curried weird with deadened
breath Because I think we're in a way that's unfair while blackly
rocks boil wilth languid summer rain All this pointless waste of
And when all is dark and fell, I don my trusty cape.