The old poacher coaches our recruits, gets results
whatever it takes. I’ll give you seven raisins
to think-tank this Syriac almanac.
A row of Roman noses. You falling on your sawdust.
Whatever it takes I’ll give. The Severn reasons
like a Tiber, by its tales. And for the sake of pink highlands,
rows of Oman roses, you’re falling. By thy sword dost
thou live. In love, to wit, hard to forgive.
whatever it takes. I’ll give you seven raisins
to think-tank this Syriac almanac.
A row of Roman noses. You falling on your sawdust.
Whatever it takes I’ll give. The Severn reasons
like a Tiber, by its tales. And for the sake of pink highlands,
rows of Oman roses, you’re falling. By thy sword dost
thou live. In love, to wit, hard to forgive.
