the ghost of David Bowie

Witchers! His spirit is binding.
Oh, how many cradles od dreaming have thou art been binding?
Ten? Twenty? (annoitioned gasp) One-hundred, thirty thousand!
The spirit of Alexander marks your grave. You keep a Bag-Hound named Frodo Baggins waiting. Are you THAT deliriousness, deliourious?
Your eyes can't see but the distant fog's anticlimatic of disdain. Are you ludicrous?
More of your kind of endeavor, I believe.
More of your bibliography...
More of your hidden works of art to come beckoning, calling me "Dagger" and "Garnet" of Alexandria--Alexanderio. You, Alexander the Greater, ARE your own enigma, as it were.
A choice of the pendulum called Death? Unlikely. A voice in my beautiful, virgin vixen's ear trembling to his corrupted soul of the hereafter, just then, I'd spied it shyly. And like the annoitioned table, I DID "smile" 'neath my garment, shyly...