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Hell
         o,    kitty.
                           Ink black
                                black cat,
                witchcrafty  
          
         purrrr-rrf­      
                    ectoplasm  



                                                 ow.


                                   .Me
How sweet it is to, deep into the night,
    Let percolate your dreams in dripping suds
Of glowingly inebriate delight
    Distilled from golden rills and amber floods,
And into threads of starlight finely spun—  
    All witched by frozen moonlight, pitched in black—
Descend your limbs (made heavy by the run
    Of daily cares), and lay relaxed and slack
Till, saturate with drowsiness—and high
    Within a space of jewels and gems and jet—
You fall into the black hole's empty eye,
    And all the world and all your self forget.
How sweet it is to all your life forsake,
Forgetting you had ever been awake.
Have ever you heard
    A crow sing sweetly?
A singing bird,
    They sing discreetly.

They caw to scoff,
    Irk and berate you,—
To **** you off,
    And agitate you.
How doth the little chupacabra
   Improve his lizard scales:
Abracadabra and candelabra,
   He showers when it hails.  

He licks his lips, and grins a grin
   A bit like an iguana's;
Poisonous drool runs down his chin;
   His teeth are like a piranha's.
Lewis Carroll rows a boat
   Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily:
   Life is but a dream.

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat
   Way up in the sky.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
   I am very high.
When, or how, or if, or what
                Is the Akond of Swat?

Has ever he had a drink with an elf?
When he drinks, does he prove his swatty self
                A SOT,
                The Akond of Swat?

When he wants to get high, does he pack a pipe,
And puff, till cherried, a bowl of ripe
                GREEN ***,
                The Akond of Swat?

Someone, or nobody, full of snot,
Knows when, or how, or if, or what
                Is the Akond of Swat.
"That lucky Pobble has no toes!"
Jealously said the man with a nose
Offensive to the fragrant rose.

"The duchess's pig-baby's sneeze
On sneeze would my nose rather please:  
A sneeze is a torment of tickle and tease!"

"Of the ****'s bright nose I'm envious:
Why couldn't there be two of us
With such a nose so luminous?"

"Never a nose like mine should smell
Or run or be picked.  Hear me well:
I would I were invisible!"
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