The swansong that wasn’t

This, my argent tongue

 

This, my argent tongue, distilled

of rough mercuric thought;

acerb dagger tang instilled,

forge and foundry wrought

 

These, my agile wits, enclosed

steel facts and silver lies;

tributes paid to king reposed

above, behind these eyes

 

But oh, this argent tongue,

is bitten, swollen, stung;

and my, these agile wits,

are spun of starts and fits

 

The king is long deposed,

usurped by ague violent;

the forge is cold and closed,

the foundry fallen silent

 

Now this, my argent tongue,

is stilled; and I am done

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My incalculable fortune lost in the crash, my loyal retainers dispersed to the wind, my teeth sold for pasties – it was the worst of times…but now I’m BACK. From Outsize space (please continue making up your own lyrics to disco classic ‘I will survive’ from this point while I try to get a broadband connection to this cave complex in the Maldives up and running. and WATCH PAY SCANT AND DILATORY ATTENTION TO…THIS SPACE.

I thank you.

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