Oh, Flynn… Quality of our service…
Oh, you are mobile, young Flynn. Many-arm’d!
Oh, Livare, art thou octopus?
For Livare, he fell to see. Was he octopus? Unholy, ungodly, many-armed? Oh, oh, oh Livare Managing! Oh Papist Mongrel, so old, so young! Ancién! Yoham, have you no shame! Shalom!
And he sang, for Moskwa hath not tears:
Of field immortal,
Of ever-fertile ever-healer!
Oh, Livare, vast! Vast! Immense! Vast.
And he cried, mother of Flynn, thin-thick bosomed, for he had no soul. He was Livare, Livare he was. MAJAHI!
Cry for Livare, #pray4livare, our sorrow
The only mistake…
Krim ever made, yet Livare liveth.
Is he alive?