Flibbertigibbet
In the spirit of dire news
he’s holed his old souls!
Walking so hard and so long
through the coals.
But you cannot master fire
without mastering the wind;
a kink in the fate
of he who has sinned,
but does not believe
in the trouble he is in—
Coveting the secrets of sin
in his grin....
I sneer at the doctrine instilled therein.
Death to the messenger
Sends a message
Back to the sender.
I suppose I shall borrow his tongue for my blender.
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