I get an itch sometimes on the hint of meat
And I sprinkle lint like flakes
To fill my stomach, forcing it to excrete ravages
Thus is the cravings with which I am hit.
So many hurdles in tango wears heat
Like the tai-Chi of a ravaging warrior
Taking stock from the sip of wisdom's cup of ore
A fraction of mysteries from dry impenetrable ground.
To be unraveled like ripples and fountain having a tete-a-tete
To replenish nature's milk from secret strolls
To the land of treasures
To flee from Menance's tooth of fret.