Alchemisland

Gaining ground, no such thing as spare rounds

Going round and round like a fairground

Hit the ground running, sparring ten rounds before coming

Arms like a blacksmith or death metal drummer

What you seek to weakly conjure

The image of the thing, I can directly summon

Words on the wing, on the brink

It’s one thing after another, vape’s on the fritz

It’d drive you to drink

Head like a sieve, if there’s something I have to do it’s written on the fridge.