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Ah um hah er bleh uh feh wha eh chah ssh oh er bah bah bah...

I met a roadie from an ancient band

Who said:—"Two fat and drunken legs did groan

Staggering through the blizzard toward the can,

And attached a bloated corpse, whose dim frown

And slurring lips no known words do command.

Should you see the bastard, alive or dead,

Barking at the moon or beheading things,

Say 'You're on in ten, or so Sharon said'.

Cos' on the marquee your name does appear:

For you are Ozymandias, he who sings.

Keep performing those old songs, but despair!

Nothing catchy remains: So add delay

And a choir to that wreck, tuneless and bare,

'Til the record sales do dwindle away."