Dear, Dear, Dear,
what do we have here?
A fever I’d hate to catch?
Hide your belongings!
I’m afraid I might detach,
from atrocities of untruths,
to regurgitated means of misuse.
What are you to me?
I waver –
in the thought of you being my saviour.
you mix your verbals through a cocktail canister,
and recipe a living nightmare of an apocalyptic disaster.