Alas, poor Yorrick.
Someone used your Halloween noggin for skeet shooting.
Abandoned you with beer cans and spent shells.
Then the rains washed you down a country road.
There you caught my eye, and for a brief moment you fooled me.
I think you'll go far.
Maybe you'll roll into the Sacramento River.
And drift to the Golden Gate.
Where crabbers or fishermen will haul you in with the catch, and report you to the SFPD.
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