A march through many lands,
Sight seeing in the up-tilt breaths,
Which punctuate long dips into the abstract realm,
Where all is meddling with notes - a striving to conceptualise,
At times berated with sematic walks,
In others lonely witnessing long prose,
Yet others in an open discourse of ascent,
What a pilgrimage this is!

Train all day,
No way that's cray,
These metal tracks,
Slick paths like clay,
And journey's stack,
Each time both ways,
And metal tracks,
Spark with each ray,
And journey's stack,
Bathed in each ray.

Tumbledown Town,
The land of the free,
Free from regulations,
Free from the fees,
So no need to share,
Just come on down,
To the Tumbledown Town where rats abound,
Free from the rules,
Free from the law,
So take a look at the door,
And leave.
It's not very good here,
Life abounds in the arms of the lawgiver.