I get an itch sometimes on the hint of meat

And I sprinkle lint like flakes 

To fill my stomach, forcing it to excrete ravages 

Thus is the cravings with which I am hit. 

So many hurdles in tango wears heat 

Like the tai-Chi of a ravaging warrior 

Taking stock from the sip of wisdom's cup of ore

A fraction of mysteries from dry impenetrable ground. 

To be unraveled like ripples and fountain having a tete-a-tete 

To replenish nature's milk from secret strolls 

To the land of treasures 

To flee from Menance's tooth of fret.