Draped in green, priest of seeds takes his best three papers and scrapes trees
From his grinder lid, dust falls on his apron, turns haze to vapour, tells me Mason
I am bound to be, so baked I believe him, blurt out that’s amazing, near burn out
Like a fireman’s failure, no safety railings in my area, last grail quest nobody cared
Gotta scare up some interest, find potential investors to divest me of ineptitude
Before I reach decrepitude, my attitude towards the new is unsuitable
Potential suitors I swerve, poisoning the mood in the room with my gloomy immovability
A lot of things to improve before I move to rule the world, an age festooned in gaudy jewels.
Alchemisland 
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