Revised sonnet #313A
Just keeping warm your spot youre kind of dead
You float against the ceiling stare at me
The line is flat oscilloscope true read
Youre finished dozey doyen of quackery
The name is Mammon moneyed men I free
You didnt smoke or drink yet fifty one
Years old your coronary claimed your chi
Youre lower than hypocrite your karma run
Your haters heart ticked box immune to fun
You pushed the patent medicine on way to bank
You stood example sick of never done
You were exactly what you ate and drank
Im merely Mammon souls arent what I reap
The future premiums surge theyre far off cheap
Chorus reap harvest garner
