Sense Sonnet - Pumper

 Mr. Osbourne

Mr. Osbourne, how flattering

That you should sing a song of me.

And your white horse of which you sing,

I miss those rides that used to be.

But alas, heeding Satan's call,

"Mr. Crowley, with me come dwell,"

I gave up lifestyle pleasures all,

No mood altering drugs in hell.

I know you want to know so much

Of what I meant by this or that.

Let's wait until we're more in touch,

Neighbors in Satan's habitat.

Mr. Osbourne, till we meet of course,

Enjoy all your rides on your white horse.