The Stallion chooses fruit over beer,
I choose beer over fruit.
Nutrients to feed his hard strong body,
Liquid shit to feed the hanging flesh on bones.
Lying in sand,
Wet from the sea,
As I sit and write,
Like a bitch that’s just been milked.
Below my skeleton is beautiful,
It’s just the surrounding mush that spoils it.
Hey little fella,
I’ll buy a pest repeller,
Hide under an umbrella,
And fly with a propeller,
Break both of my patella,
Bend spoons with Uri Geller,
Go see a fortune teller,
Drink fifty cans of Stella,
Eat balls of Mozzarella,
Suck toes of David Mellor,
Be ill with salmonella,
Turn orange Donatella,
We sing in acapella,
The things we do for love.
One hundred million degrees below freezing,
And Natasha buttoning up her eyes,
Bubbling oil heats the cell of cosy,
As the pull of the future helps cavernous walnuts snap into another rise;
As routine marsupials splash with vigor,
Running like cats away from litter.
Winter pallet shifts a tone lighter and lighter and lighter and เบา
Ascending with a drum roll.
A gift of it to that,
Haunted all the way,