girt in my iron pajamas
I ride fro on my steed of linen
to battle! in a wide plain of dream violence,
and my broadsword going all: whsssht! whsssht! CLANG
through the air and upon the shields and helmed visages
that surround me pretty thick.
The brute force of my sword-arm tells
to the consternation and woe of my sworn foes
fuck them
this is my dream
whatever they did to deserve to be in it
is not my problem
I SMITE THEE, SUCKA!!
whsssht! whsssht!
clang
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