Commanding lust using banned signals, which novices lust
Torrid knowledge from horrid books which porridge minds
Bulked coffers full of bread, not Hovis
Gilt-rinded fruit in Midas’s holding
Always holding potent cause-wheeze potions.
Time’s disposable, enough to write unpromotable tough-read novels,
Instead waste my life getting chased by taser-wielding officers
Because my pipefodder’s the source of half these deep coughs.
Fatherless swords with lord-sized pockets.
Alchemisland 
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