'Tis a vile vial lifted to his lips; poison poised at its rim
If he drinks the draft, his life will leave
The prospects he's left? Quite dim
He dreads the dregs but drains it dry. He breathes a breath, aquiver
Shivering, shaking, quaking, quitting
His eyes but silver slivers
If asked, I would accept except for axes on their axes
Spinning on their spines, forbidden
Never ridden in taxis
To add an ad won't aid your aide, I'll advise some advice
Keep your peepers private, people
Put your eyes on ice
I'll walk up the aisle and make an allusion to an ancient illusion, long past
For four fortune tellers to tattle
Left me aghast, so I gasped
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