oh freddled gruntbuggly

H.P. Lovecraft's "Nathicana" isn't really very good. I can't get very far into it without wanting to add "... said the enthused barbarian as the guardsman's head flew from his burly shoulders" at random intervals.

Fortunately, I've created the short form of the poem.

In the mist-shrouded gardens of Zais
a pallid maid lay on a dais
till mist clouded my vision
with long-tortured fission
and I wished that the dark gods would pay us.