A lad says what shall warm a farm. A man says that a dark farce can attack, fatal farms. What shall a gal land? As glass spanks a bank, watch as small shards appall Mark’s hard farm hands. Mark can rank a man’s marks, cards and all. A bad lad has Mark’s war, an act that has a trap and a zap. Zaps can trap a lark, far awash a grad that wants a farm. That lad can fall apart, talk as darts, watch a blast. Wham! That man’s farm was dark. A fatal farm blasts that lad’s say apart, and Mark’s war pats a grad’s la-la-land. Damn.