An antiquary of sorts,
Looking for applique fossils,
Apprise others of such discoveries,
Skipping lowbrows in the process,
Committers being a group of louts,
As if such an act was a lucrative job,
My job is a travail,
Making out a treatise with the devil,
Living in trepidation until the blood is sealed,
Moving into a tripe of the goat,
You could say once these people are found,
The next phase is more of a labial job,
In order to succeed one must use laborious force,
Being a captain among landlubbers,
Overwrought with hearing a story,
As if singing a paean,
Suddenly the job changes once more,
Assuming the roll of a palmistry,
Leaving the other party in paralysis,
Then being a jocky,
You move the person to a paddock,
The day is over,
In a way a certain order is restored.
Blindfolded statues Hold Truths many cannot begin to practice. EO
