Rise on a recurring ride
Tackled with trifling towers
With green, gilded spires that guide
The pool of poison’s powers
That defies denizens to doom;
That harbors hell’s harbinger —
Burning in the balloon — boom!
Mirth as small as Mazinger Z;
“A minute for what it means?”
Minute? More like, Mazinger Z!
Mazinger-sized monster’s miens,
Larger than its leafy limbs
Crawled to my cavern of crave
While I watch my wily weeds;
Cunt crushed my creedal conclave,
Needlessly nicked my needs;
Mazinger mashed with its mace;
Gallant, gnashed with coup de grace;
Cavern crushed and I in craze;
But I got up goofing gas;
Hot like hell along the haze.
Put the pot on the perfect place;
And read the riddles while they race.


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