Dabble dabble, ramble ramble. I am but foolishly churning out words.
Moan, groan, sown, thrown the rhymes that make for my verbal dressage.
Masquerading in a beautiful face to hide the featureless visage,
I can only continue on in the hopes you fall for the trickery.
I think before I write, but I write not what I think.
I am the Walrus.
I whisper sweet things in your ears and conjure magic and enchantment in my sentences.
Be fooled! Believe in my apparent substance, believe that I have a fair morsel of intellect.
For I know nothing. Then again, what exactly is 'nothing'?
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