Core habitual rue

Mock skulking through discant

Throwing jabs that just don't swing

Built up passive rime

Something, something you remember

Here's something you can't fake: a zealot drowned itself in bromide

I have this xenolith mass; moored to the whole and I’d swear they blend

They don't blend

That alloy scythe could be some friend

But even a xenolith holds that, that steel could… that still could wrest these eyes out as you will

Poke and joke and get your fill

It's nice to see you, it's been so real surreal

Stave the end relay, cough it up at least it's something

The rue trends to fade away

Pack the bags, it's indictment time again

Wrest these eyes out, busy waning

But you insist that I should starve to realize