Full of weirdly odd at best
He had a thing about the strange
He thought he had a missing link
Which could bring about a change
For hours and days slow-cooking
Where he condensed his concentrate
Machinating with no end in sight
A struggling bout to conjugate
All along the taunting Fimmel
Was playing lightweight with ideas
Preposterous and obstreperous
To be drowned in floods of tears
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