How many flame-fruit trees live in your neighbor's yard?
Hark! Hither cometh Sir Lancey-loop, ye olden tyme bard!
The Suicidal King is kind of a creepy card.
Hey I just thought up a new word! Nard!
On birthdays my Grammy-grams always sends a card.
Card does rhyme with card; it's a different kind of card.
See these black and white boxers? In the picture? They sparred.
I like frying tortilla chips in lard. They're really yummy.
Anyway what I really wanted to get to in this poem
is the part where I say that you should all repent
because the end is nigh
and you're all gonna die
so it's time to say good-bye
to your precious mortality
and your sinful sense of sensuality
and tonight you won't have anymore senses
because it's gonna be like that part in Mortal Kombat
when the guy with the deep voice says, "Fatality,"
so tonight ready yourself for the bodily removal of your body
from planet Earth and the spiritual removal of your spirit
from planet Earth and now listen here my friend Bernard,
your rotten spirit is one the Eternal Judge of All Creation will discard!
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