What is this lodging and people strangeth
Yond walketh but never see
Looking as the screen doest changeth
Laughing with mirth and glee
And roaring beasts runneth up the roads
Like dragons with hurtling and smoke
Gigantic monsters with heavy loads
May runneth down honest folk
Just to returneth to calmer times
Would maketh mine own journey pleasant
I feeleth yond hither I'm out of rhymes
I'm nay more than a peasant
Taketh me back to times more sane
The fifteen nineties art for me
I cannot writeth, nor bethink, nor remain
In twenty twenty three