You can’t rhyme.
New Iskander curses the Fates;
Of harpies and destiny prates.
His threads give him woe
Because, frankly, they blow.
On debates, he’s the one micturates.
Thank you.
You can’t rhyme.
New Iskander curses the Fates;
Of harpies and destiny prates.
His threads give him woe
Because, frankly, they blow.
On debates, he’s the one micturates.
Thank you.