It’s impassable,
’cause the weather ain’t been dry—
it’s just impassable.
To get over, you must fly—
it is impassable

Don’t get too close, or you might be
statistic on the new nightly.
Stay away, or for you it’ll be “adieu”…
into that nasty gulf.

Below the cliff you can hear the ocean’s roar.
The road's impassable.
If you plummet down, you’ll be much worse than sore—
you’re probably gashed and killed.

That’s no furrow,
chasm where you would be hurled.
So don’t abet it.
Bridge is gone; the road’s washed out, so forget it!
Or you’ll be pounded to pulp…
could be, quick, mashable.

If you get too close, then you’re like to soar,
and have a crash you will.
If you plummet down, you’ll be much worse than sore—
you’re probably gashed and killed.

So please follow
my advice and don’t be hurled
down—you’ll regret it.
You must wait until the engineers can mend it.
Then you’ll live and not be pulp.
Try now? It’s laughable.