"K" keeps me guessing, it's beyond my ken.
Is it a kamikaze licence to kill?
A kaleidoscopic kiln of karma?
A knees-up knave
or a knight in shining armour?
Kiss me, K!
K is the key,
the Kyrie Eleison,
the kernel of knowledge.
K is knotty, knockabout, knuckleheaded, knurled, a knowall thrown out of college.
K is not quite Kosher.
K is not OK.
Oh, K.
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