Plans at womb stage, zygotic indistinct potatoes still later shaped
Deadheading, clipped them back to the root
Heading them off by alternate routes
Soot black the world’s roof at my left flank’s bowshot
Cathiss-like arrowflight, a stoic elite waiting to die
The mighty stand from their trenches, defiant and iron-sided
When I’m not full of cider and white
My more admirable left-of-right shows them a Byron side
Other admirals in Pampers when I roll up, Banba’s colours flying
Roll up alongside, kindling them quick-time
With rapidfire waves of withering cannon fire.
Alchemisland 
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