Look, it’s the loom o morn awready ya evil basket. You’ve nae time tae squat there moodily indulging in existential angst o’er deith, entropy and the ennuii o immortality all o-er the heid o yer morning opportunistic wayside by-bite.
Get yer erse into the coffin or ye’ll be scowdered awa tae stoor by the mornin licht and that’ll be the end o ye. Again.
loom o morn: first sign of dawn, the pre-light before the dawn.
Look, it’s the pre-dawn glow already you evil fatherless son. You’ve no time to squat there moodily indulging in existential angst over death, entropy and the ennuii of immortality all because of your opportunistic wayside snack.
Get your carcass into the coffin or you will be roasted away to dust by the morning light and that will be the end of you. Again.