The crusty cranium when the wind blows
oozes melancholicholicholically
The sordid cress which encircles its orbits
Cry! Cry! Always it bleats the bone armature
and moans melodiolodiously
from between crossed teeth which crunch nothing
Such a crevasse in quotidian cronfusion
This creepy smile and crempty happiness
But
Who shifts language, cretinous hand-crunchers?
Holy shcrit! I cran't believe it's me!
