For times when my capacity is small The neural pathways glide to comtrovee I wonder if it threatens one and all Of fleegunds in repooh confrasticly Will flesh bespeak the hidden garlemphew Will garlemphew return to days of creel An accident of sounds the chawg renew With irons dull by rotten lastig steel True times will bind the hands with which we speak We speak of words as if the gods will die The strong will end below the waves that freak The nouns and verbs on which the gods rely It doesn’t really matter when they come The sound of stains enhance a hardened scum.