Ah, that your Flesh be that Smooth Leather pierce Pricked by Needles on the Sands of Dubai As the Blue Giant hovers; And shakes your Fears From the White Winged Djinn hovering on high He wants your Temple; Such Beauty obssessed That even in his Realm his Kind turns Green On how such Coil as you - Divine possessed - Which to Retirements abhor the Mean Which Font, then, must your Alphabet construct Something which verily made to Run and Blow So you lie down; And flash the Comfortiduct - That same Pronged Victory we all should know. After all, long have we Enjoyed such Bulge Of Eight Metres spread; Less Five Inches indulge.