"Shall I ask thee, should I get freed from such frenemy fangs?
What I need to knit, that my light could breathe better without another blackish on
Those ones in animal instincts - to catch to kill - whose familiarity forms fill my desks
With such harmonious snuggles with their quizzical glare
Nothing in my knowledge can thee do better past heads whose callings be very bad
To do you low as you pray, paving ways for others plights, you are a prey
Others are licking fingers all ready, with the premonitions so precise that demise fits
So serious, even in prayer, whilst the eyes go shot, they test their saws unto the neck
whilst tortoise lie sluggishly in the bush and tonguefish o'er-fill the sea by demography
Or should need to proof wily, villainous n' despicable enough, wo a cassowary to we".