There's No Fuel Like an Old Fuel

She took a stroll one moonlit night in search of lumps of anthracite. She knew that coal could soothe her soul: one moonlit night, she took a stroll. Insomniac, anaplasty coal soothed her soul: but she knew she would need, to get her nostrils back, anaplasty. Insomniac, obsessed with smoking magic weed, to get her nostrils back, she’d need a plastic surgeon – but the best! With smoking magic weed obsessed, she’d need a reconstructed nose. The rhinoplastor whom she chose loved coal, and gave her, quick as thought, the reconstructed nose she sought.