Limbo, Limbo, Limbo
Slink your shoulders underneath the broom bar,
Tilt your back towards the Earth.
Ah, this middle ground betwixt near and far,
A pose to prep for passing; checkpoint before rebirth.
Fair-warnings blow to let not this game
Become a humble abode, a phase become a form.
Not cold, not hot. Nor bold, nor tame.
Limbo outperforms none, what a drab cruciform!
To hang, nailed hands, awaiting death and fire.
Before I land in limbo again, I would rather fall on a spire.
RetroStank 