Nonsenset run

Wherevet you go, the starting-men are

The wharmint-bends follow, the night thickly stars

A cluster of deep/traps, a medallion of art

The trinksy devoid of the callousy-part.

To Whomevet you speak, from Whenevet you run

The slow-laughing lords with their jesting and fun

Will find you and bind you for memories to make

As we all settle down at the table to wait.

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