feeding the limp knee and sort of saucing the wife

Patty Urchin, the ursine merchant:

They be hurtin, said the serpent to the merchant,
we be healin, she said with feelin,
peel your eyes, said the land-locked pair of thighs,
science guys are a dime-a-rhyme.
The owl and the pussygalore rode in her car,
promised to say true so blue no flu bird drool,
They said, "ye be too nigh to the wall, so reverse, Urchin."
She screamed and cried and said we be lurchin' so hang on to the morning,
it may be the last clocktower we ever share.
In the moonlight, on the tower, the cobbled medievality of the bell-rung stones
sounded against the merchant's hairy steps.
halibut for on ean dfo rall.
for one and for all.
Searchin. parameter space ain't big enough for my foot and your arse.