I trust not; in all; let alone the one; he who heeds deeds and misleads; let alone lately, late lasting lily lake light-outs, and a fragrance of brothels; let alone ladies; whom shiver in timbers of whimsical whispers; warriors and such, just not so much; let alone stabbing knives, the whirlwind winds, the ancient mimes of moonlit jives; deserted by sunrise, blessed with nocturnal eyes. I trust not; verily; to shout merrily; we were here once; within that shrouded ponce; alas, it has come to pass; a shiny piece of glass; and contemporary jazz; I reminisce on bliss; a dire pegasus; a daring precipice; the circus maximus; hands aloft in the great gymnastic overthrow of ages. In the wake of a blunder, we all stand asunder; clutching crutches, avoiding crunches, unaware of blind arms carrying lame legs forthward, essentially; a wisdom of ages; a grasp of sages; locked cages, and a heap of pages. Resent me not, for I have sought, in the wake of the wry; a luminous high; lustrous and illustrious; foretold stories of quandary, and magnificence; where have we gone; to reach such lowly heights; what have we sown; to silence so prone; and much to condone. Take me back; to the dream so lifelike of circles; take me to the midst of a wardrobe of callous miracles…  
…and I will know what I like;
I will know what I like.