The bard in the bar

I look at this keyboard in the palm of my hand
Something we see as a morning lit fibre
Combat, fall short, trance into the moment
Compare yourself to the Huckabee
Now raise your wine for hades has been almost vanquished.
The demon threads in the back of your neck
These sauvages are still live. In the shadoes.
Misspelling your verbage, can you backspace a verbal language. My belly is fat but my soul and spirits are able.  The warmongering has stopped. As the bard walks in, twirling his mandolin. The heathens in haw. We have eehwaw. Water in the bard language. The bards range is plentiful. He tips at all, has a ice cube and leaves the bar, it's members shocked and in wonder.