Work Text:
It was the eve of 1741, I felt malnourished.
The dusted leaves on every porch in Shang-Hai, well fashioned for it.
Of course, my anxious sentiment towards every man of prose,
Torn on Time's banked ship. Sediment flooring shared its woes.
First came Mr. Andesite, he had a lot to say.
"Pure stained whiskers manned all by the saddened crops of May"
His poetic interpretations confused the rocks with common sense
"This rhetoric misinformation is a ruse to shock our men!"
They tied him to the anchor, cast the sail, let him drown
A tide or two did sling forth, told a tale all over town
"The cowardly Rock's display of lust was pyschopathically formed!"
All power lay in the clocks array, the bust of a siren deformed.
And so I thought about this dream, four years ago to the day.
Atoned by not a shout, this Dean poured tears upon his way.
Sacrificed erosion beyond,
Advised for posing at dawn.