Dice In The Ovens Of Rheims
The early bird, that gets the lion's share
A point to note, if worms are to your taste
In your cold lair
Shall surely go to waste
So let's make haste, we have no time to spare
We must devour - it's written in the clouds
No less a morsel than the Gods command
In their hard Lore
Beneath their iron Hand
So let's make haste, before we draw the crowds
Contributors: | Roland, Beefy, Apsley. |
Poem finished: | 2nd September 2004 by Apsley. |