A twist of lemon
A touch of spice
Slips of girls and trails of snails
Everything bad
Everything nice

A month a Theran guardsman makes
A thousand golden sovereigns
A year a Quarter orphan begs
For wishes unfulfilled again

And Lance the tender knows the score
His Shadya knows even more
Indiraa snake has twisting coils
But sunlighta caught me in its toils

In alleys of a Delos side street
In private lounges mono-proofed
On decked out ships with all the fixings
For what ails me there is no fixing

A squirt of pus
All yellow-bright
Nostrils flared and charms all bared
Everything thus
Nothing for us

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Sarapin, in the year 964 AF.