Tis a curse of horniess upon the land,
Tis only a curse if you're alone with your hand,
I hear that immunity is in the women of Thak,
Although they spend hours flat on their back.
Perhaps a cure is some men with some fire,
Ingens says he has it, but we know he's a liar,
Those women of dark hearts need lovin all night,
Maybe with a Springdalian, they would not put up a fight.
Think about it lads, why bother I say,
It's here with good women, I say we all stay,
The Thaks to one side and Parrius the other,
From what I am told, they all sleep with their mother.
From Gunther...a bad poet with a caffiene level equal to his IQ. No offense intended but hopefully taken.
Written by my hand on the 26th of Midwinter, in the year 971.