The tested times of trouble
Turn true to form today
Masked by moldy memories
My, much made out of their mistakes ok.
Waiting, weathered by the wind, the watchman
Without the wavering faith, of the weak or waylorn
He stands headstrong, against the heathen
Who so ever hostile. as a hyperbolical hexahedron.
Soon, so strikes the stroker
Steamily sputters, sprinkling tiny sparks and flames
He has hitched all his hopes hereafter
To the hesitancy of those who be half lame
No where near next to nothing
Nugatory nuggets of notated nostalgia
Open up an on going onomoto poetically
Obstruently, occultationally, onerousrifically
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