Wondrous to see your face,
Help yourself to our good grace,
Grab a stout,
Or stroll about,
And shove an anthem down your spout,
Consider it an English tout,
Of tidings' nigh and endless chase!

Command the armies from your mind,
Halt their fevers to a grind,
And spray the burroughs far and wide,
With what's green to human eyes,
Blind a ***** with witty stamps,
Bruise a lout with hardened clamps,
To numb the void of armored stance,
You brave a smirk; your saving dance

Closer now, the introspection,
Daunting brows to blue complexion,
Relive a day within a year,
Calm yourself, there's none to fear,
But all the ways you could have neared,
The end

You see the ear, but miss the eye,
Compute the ****** I'd need to fly,
To meet a grave so well-endowed,
As yours, you claim, would make us proud,
To glean the odd and shake the bones,
Of "Satan's spawn or Casey Jones"

Yet now it seems you'd sake a jewel,
To venture on to Heaven's rule,
If not for you to die the hero,
Then for I to die the fool...