|Master Cerian Cantwr|
Miguel, el se llama, he is a were-llama,
Who's saddened each month by the beast he becomes.
For it is no treat, to trade hands for feet -
You can't play castanets without thumbs.
I want all to know of my sad tale of woe,
Beneath a full moon I grow fur and a tail.
This lunar linked mess has me in distress,
And at my misfortune I rail.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
I saw a strange sight, beneath full moon's light,
A lone llama wand'ring wherever it chose
I tried to give chase, but it spat in my face -
And then it bit me on my nose.
OW! OW! OW!
The pain was colossus in my poor proboscis.
I quickly felt sickly, my body went numb.
My weight, it did double - my diet's in trouble,
I started to eat grass and hum.
Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.
My mind was so blurry with worry I'm furry.
My mem'ries are mixed up, a muzzy morass.
I woke scared to death, with the worst morning breath,
And a mouthful of partly chewed grass.
Yuck! Yuck! Bleaugh!!!!
So now I get fleas, which itch, and I sneeze.
Much to my unease, I'm allergic to wool.
My teeth I do gnash, 'cause I'm covered in rash
And dandruff flakes foul and frightful.
Oh I itch.
So do not be girt with a shaggy hair shirt.
Steer clear of queer quadrupeds in the moonlight.
Leave llamas like me, 'ware lycanthropy,
Or else you will share in my plight.
|This page maintained by Cerian Cantwr, firstname.lastname@example.org.|