Rathlin prideful wild isle
A belt of wrathful tides
Rat lines upscurry landmines
Bound for enemy mine
Rathmines, wrath of mine
Criminal tithes and types
Snipers, pipers, enemy spies
Swore I’d pick him out of any line
Now they’re before me
Can’t place his face
No upsleeved ace
White as cooked plaice one turns away hastily each time I visage taste
Takes a village to raise one, child of the masons and May Sun.
Alchemisland 
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