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My shrivelled, grey fingers clutch my emaciated arms.
I've not feasted now for nine moons nigh;
Save for scraps of detritus,
and dribbles of I-know-not.
Yet that which I have partaken,
Were of unproclaimable sweetness to me;
Yae in blissful, innocent ignorance,
their true nature be far from such.
Mine is not to complain.
This measley nutrition is better than none.
And for the grossly elongated minutes,
The while I be sated,
I may as well be a King in his parlour.
Higher, slowly higher
Their frequency doth climb
Now there are rumblings in the distance
Louder even than my own, pitiful stomach.
A messenger;
Asks of us great patience,
Says there comes a great feast.
But where is this messenger now?
I am lifted to know of such a being.
Forsooth, knowing one, I must beseech of thee:
Tell us MOAR!
I've not feasted now for nine moons nigh;
Save for scraps of detritus,
and dribbles of I-know-not.
Yet that which I have partaken,
Were of unproclaimable sweetness to me;
Yae in blissful, innocent ignorance,
their true nature be far from such.
Mine is not to complain.
This measley nutrition is better than none.
And for the grossly elongated minutes,
The while I be sated,
I may as well be a King in his parlour.
Higher, slowly higher
Their frequency doth climb
Now there are rumblings in the distance
Louder even than my own, pitiful stomach.
A messenger;
Asks of us great patience,
Says there comes a great feast.
But where is this messenger now?
I am lifted to know of such a being.
Forsooth, knowing one, I must beseech of thee:
Tell us MOAR!