Those tuneful tones keep hitting that lazy bone
still keep on coming, with uncountable loads
walking upon those unchartable roads
snowing the invisible tracks, while reciting the cold
greeting their Yeti with story's old
imaginatively retold, from the people that froze
for that lonely road was invaded by princely toads
telling their silver lining, how their legs have grown
everyday they ribbit the ribbit, echoing false gold
moaning by the fire that their yeti's have turned trolls
yet they brag upon the people and turn them to polls
a statistic from which they mould
pricing up the message each time the story gets retold.