"Ix-nay the ober-say," my closest books told me

The carrion birds
Were horny for words
As they circled St. Vincent Millay,
And if Bourbons were wishes,
They'd meet Christopher Hitchens,
In the harbor of ol' Botany Bay.
For no rosary would save you,
Nor the living God that made you,
From the wisdom of good Tanqueray.
While our vices make friends
With our achievable ends,
And we're drinkin' and thinkin' all day.