Down to brass tacks
Beneath marble, harsh stone
Obsidian pillar of me, idiot bard self-marvelling
Little regarding what retards my targeting truth
Far from the thing’s root, suited hued in soot
One foot in front another, marching to the crypt
Clad black dressed for death you never know when
No breath or tomorrow promised, no minute next
What questions beg these vexatious verses.
Alchemisland 
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