Your time is near, the mission's clear It's later than we think Before you slip into the night, You'll want some thing to drink Steal away before the dawn and Bring us back good news But if you've tread in primal soup Pleas wipe it from your shoes
Just then a porthole pirate Scourged the evening with his cry And sanctuary bugs deprived A monkey of its thigh A dust arose and clogged my nose Before I could blink twice Despite the scut that bubbled up I gave some last advice:
The flesh from satans dogs Will make the rudiments of gruel
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