Alchemisland

Back from Jap

Back in the habit like a runaway nun

Nabbed in a mad cathouse doing dabs

Nothing drab in this entire pad

Trap by way of medieval France, Dauphin elaborate

Dosed, man, candelabra

Fanta cans but man can’t say what he’ll have with it, incriminate

All that evidence fed into the grate, names, dates, incinerate

Up late or is it early?

Is it a fox wailing or a creaking gate down the lane?

Bells ringing changes

Headrush only a stabber ever felt, flesh giving and melding with metal

Ultimate settler, went from decking unyielding debtors to wielding sceptres

So subtle it goes under their noses and never gets intercepted

Hundreds of grows, where no one knows

Only me, Tom Bombadil and Mr Toad.