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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.

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.

© 2004 Charles Grab
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