FinnimbrunMature

In olde land Kyr
Liv’d an horrid beast,
Its black eyes a mire
Tusk drippin’ an’ greast.

An’ who rattles wit’ bones?
Why, Finnimbrun does
In t’ olde land Kyr.

It ‘s shelled a spine
An’ ‘s hooks for claws,
Oh, but o son o mine
‘Ware its be-devil’d jaws.

An’ who shrikes an’ who moans?
Why, Finnimbrun does
In t’ olde land Kyr.

It’s a rank, foul thing
As it slithers besides,
To t’ loch or t’ spring;
Down to its evil resides.

An’ who’ll slide into doze?
Why, Finnimbrun will
In t’ olde land Kyr.

It creeps on t’ ground
Wit’ ‘is meandering queue,
Draggin’ tykes tha’ ‘s found
T’ slithe ooze-laden grue.

An’ who spits up t’ clothes?
Why, Finnimbrun does
In t’ olde land Kyr.

The End

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