My punches are wit dimmers that make you need wet dinners
Head off like a wick trimmer, fist tremors chin split like syndicate winners
Piss rank the poor public pool in disrepair, piss sour air, pouring the chloriners
In slim slips her sins shine her lips, swims in it up to her tits, shocking other swimmers
Many naughts since another path they crossed, the confused yachts aboard the thirsting argonauts
Fraught this journey, fraught! Cursed and bloated fish in nets they caught
Early on the picking of lots, the tension of the draw
Hard to eat a man, he needed another thirty, lodged in the captain’s craw
Alchemisland 
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