In a land far begone, in a time beknotted of twists and turns
There came The Arp.
Bearing the Horn of Turgid Oblique
The Arp did don a garment of sheerest lace, the wind warbled
The Arp withstood the grevith blow for there were reasons of import
Greater than the delphi OZ
Of Gunner there was no assist - The White Tadpole was spent
And so came The Arp…abreast…to annihilate the White Tadpole
Let there be a tale, a fable of time, the story has but arisen
Dark was the day when The Arp rode forth
To slay the dreaded dragon of paleness - for injury and insult
Heaped in pustules of bile consorting with the spirit everlasting
The Arp knew of no shrouded thread than it
Let the wind moan its narssistic plee for the end of all
Nay! Stay the hand, shade the eyes, not yet forebear
Oh sad be the moment , shed liquid salt for what is to come
Send Oz the message for the terrible truth
Bring Gunner, at the Loom, the brightly woven thread
For within and without The Arp is dead
Silent be the cries, make peace of the wind, pile on the pyre
The flames shall eat of flesh tonight; but not of soul
Oh Arp of Cammal, bestower of Mal-boro, bringer of Lite
Oh Arp - the brightest thread of all
Nevermore of karma shall an armpit drink of God
Whence of good can The Arp have left
And what of the White Tadpole you may question
It lies shrivelled and broken within a deep moist cave, the skies
Never will see its likeness again
Fare thee well Arp
Of Oz 'twill be made many a heroic parlay
And Gunner will incite song of such worth your name will not be
Wail wind of the ages
The Arp is dead