Capeshift

 As I swash my buckler, for the marsh in the shrouded room; 

myriads of multitudes surround me with choice, I cannot crue! 

A Cape dost not make a Superman, but how you save Lanes; 

how many thus says does one whiteraven need to slay foreplay. 

Raping the thinkgaps and rapiering the brutal Kathar for groom -- 

House was on fire and full on steroids overdrive, slithering inane. 

The paint dried itself, like a cat licking its paws, spill your Doom 

on my carpet, and lets get merry silent in Arabesque, feeling sane... 

A Title becomes, then you fill it with worthy deeds, not fair gains; 

listen, doc, blow your stack and Yosemite all the way, the Groove!! 

Don't think but act is the moto, then you're Superman, please be too.