In these days before the celebration of,
the burn that Burns us all of course,
when sleekit, timid beasties,
regaled themselves in a damask of preaching.
There be not much more left to preach,
when aiming at the truly oblique,
And then wondering why you never attend,
Too what you never once did comprehend.
Let us all not assail the thought,
that what you sought you never got,
Let us not forget who you are,
when pro-acting and fucking up from afar.
I have no dog to speak of in this,
I merely remind you of the bliss,
Of an opinion shared in that you once thought,
Wid coalesce with what you never got.
And in the getting of what you demand,
there is no hope for a helping hand,
that never pushes you below the waves,
of whit should be engraved on that storied grave.
I have nuffing more left to say,
unless Blandscape can make it go away,
I wanted more than my hope delivered,
I wanted less and was left shrivelled.
It's not the fault of what might have been,
It's just you being all you never has been.