Two marrow bones and two marrow bones and two marrow bones!
Cheap! For this pretty face, from day to day…
To the least stab-able of tricordered time!
I think he’s doing Shakespeare again…MacBeth, maybe?
And all our yeasty days have flighted ghouls
Away too hasty breath—out, out, brief fondle!
Think of England, think of England, think of England…
Life’s but a stalking shadow, a pre-payer
That spills and wastes his sour bourbon wage
Look, you need to just STOP.
Be heard no more: it is a tail
flicked by an idiot, full of sound and furry!
At least you got that last part right.