On a furtive night in the land of stings and sorry,
Let my bird cage out, canary singers
You all might pass
On my tail
And excuse yourselves, vestigially
Feeling was inconsequential
Unless the main was flawed
And thus wrapped up in appetizers
Side horses at the ready
To askance, descriptive conscripts
Drafted by the I committee
To be seen by the pleasant citizenry
Taken at no words, music backdropped the bold
And this quest, taken from ninety degree tables
Spells out its words: n. o. magic.
Spin cycle, analog device ahead of its crimes,
Revolves pre-industrially
Around the feuds paused in favor
Of a little bit of fleece
Roman Ryan 