Toss back a lit match, “Whatever, G”
My walks around the blocks are predatory
I’m the messed up prelate, tactics military
Driving whilst drunk until I mill a tree
Windscreen like webs spiders leave
Worried merchant needing fees
Screwfacing out to sea, praying for my argosy
Ague stopped me attending the odyssey
Now I’m courting the wife of Ulysses.
Alchemisland 
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