Crispy ashes make poor toast
Haste testers can't see thermometers
For the mercurial moonies they represent
No one wants to be a metaphor
And that's what One is
Monorealism, wrapped in religious bacon
Served too posh to nosh
Figgish gooding makes moral seeds
Stick in the heath (dentists hate nature)
Aphorisms require periods
To validate their timeliness
And apostates drink heresy
With a breakfast bowl of sales
Thank you, my public, for buying
At skull price
The stake oil I've sold to vampires
In the guise of garlic-free bread
Roman Ryan 