The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The Turks said just take anything you please
That suede ferments is not at all well known
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
The best of all things to an end must come