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

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