At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
He bent right down and well what did he seize
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum