I stand on the ramparts of tautology
Forever eschewing any hint of scatology.
But don’t ask me this fine day
To bind my obfuscations away.
For where o’ where would I be
If I could not in confidence convolute thee?
Oh, where o’ where, pray tell
Would my alliterations have place to dwell?
I am but a humble servant of words
Trundling through this world of the absurd.
A land of regret full of monsters who fete
On a mind that will now be quite quiet.