Be queerly, be dumb, but scratch not thy thumb 'pon the grind wheel of rockmage! Earth be his stage, opinion the hallmark of his rage. Woe to this crumbling onion! Woe to he that grinds and leaves not but dust! All he speaks is truth, and yearns for things just!-- yet in blind abandon he does lie, taking pains to appear humble! Made of stone is this mage, die he shall with shallow rumble! Woe to this illusionist, this envious fraud of a mage! Pity he who can not bend, fearful his statue might dissolve if he leans twixt his legs 'n takes a whiff at the shit dribbling out of his own queer bristled 'n soiled ass!