[Fig]

retreat lies as an option for the idle and weak
I seek demise for my enemies as primal instinct
rhyming in weight, speaks the language of a spine when it creaks
from the pressure peaked whenever I fit fight in my speech
puncture percussion with penitentiary discussions
Bars get summoned from under earths crust, then thrusted in public.
The tut of the tundra, the crafter of most cunning conundrums.
Could scrawl a pedals plummet from summit; you couldn't stomach the substance.