It burst in cackled spackles
On a meloncholy sky
Versed in flutterheart form muttering
Cuddled in an utter sty

Wicked prickles clicked the finger gearlings
That crack the rust encoated crusty shell
Of slitherfitting bitter gritted fearlings
Tethered in a myth of huddled hell

Tick Tock, Tick Tock
Welcome back again
It’s not a slippy if or whither
But a whether when