Сложные стихи на английском

If so, it’s the almighty bane of men that stands in my doorway…

No…You’re in my head, you’re ethereal as if you were a fay.

Your ravings are but ornaments of rage on my tranquil and silent appliquе.

My entity is decorated with rebellious inlay.

No matter how stiff you fix my thinking it’ll still be flyaway”.

“Now tell me how much do your convictions weigh?

One wouldn’t file a full dossier!

Your thoughts are unassailable, aren’t they?

They are against all regulations, they refute any folkway,

They serve your right, they won’t betray.

If you can’t stop, then there’ll be hell to pay!

Embarked hackneyed belief, en route to God knows what you are a stowaway.

Stay low lest they should throw you straight into some coarse, behind-the-bars coupe.

The serene state of yours it is that I shall flay.

Until I reach your grief searing directly lay by lay.

I’ll see you waterlogged once I’ve cleared the path to gley.

My composition for you with a tempo andante.

Directed antithetically dolce.

Or if you will “Le temps frappе”.

Your laminated qualities are but components for a virulent parfait.

Those deviations, incoherence…why have you had another cutaway?

Filled to the brim with bifurcations, is that supposed to be your honed screenplay?

One simply cannot lead his life without byplay!

A book’s no good with fickle a donnee.

Unless it’s being written by the louche Vicar of Bray.

Your acting’s great, I guess I’ll send you a chrysanthemum nosegay.

I’ll rip you inside out, your guts will moan and whimper “nay”…!

I’ll cut you out then shake you up so I could feel your insides ricochet.

Your hope won’t breed you impudent offspring because her nature I shall spay.

I’ll knit your bones via technique of aberrant crochet.

I’ll feed your flesh to fiendish dogs, their heads trey.

Although I’m sure they’ll choke on this fillet.

Expunge ambivalence or I’ll make your extremes meet each other in a mortal swordplay.

Together they are detrimental but futile per se.

Who do you think would be the last to cry “touche”?

The one who’s grabbed a gun instead of an epee!

If they abstain, I’ll link them up using your spine as a causeway.

And with a scattered avalanche of dread your minds at last I’m gonna spray.

My taste is exquisite for I am a refined gourmet.

You are invited in the form of food for my soiree.

I’d drench you in some fiery shame, ignite it and we’ll get a marvellous flambе.

Or should I freeze your temper to the bones so that you’d make a fabulous sorbet?

“I could preserve you in sweet lust so that your brain shall be glace.

Well, I’d rather crash your pride and soul to relish in your life puree.

My mouth waters, and the tickling of my nostrils you are so unable to belay!

The browning of you mind has been commenced via sautе.

Your remnants I’ll drag underwater so that carnivore fish could have a cold buffet.”

Recalcitrance of mine was vanquished straightaway.

My troops succumbed to arguments that I myself could not gainsay.

Our ship stumbled as though water turned to heavily baked clay.