O' Noble Cat!
O' noble Cat, nine times blessed, do tell:
How dost thou lick thy balls in times as fraught as these
With draught, famine, flood and fire? How canst thou be
So dedicated to thy morning wood? Man has let his
Wander to the ends of Earth but not as yet can he
Do with his tongue what thou canst do with thine.
O noble Cat, if I but could, you know I would lick mine.
Tea at Ate
- '...Sooner or later, Mister Alligator,
They'll all make a line
- A sign of the time - And walk on down
Right into your mouth, past all of your teeth
Move along your spine,
Till they hit at the last, the end of the road,
And you shit them all out! An insufferable load
That thought that you were...that...Oh this, and that...'
- 'Be quiet, Mister Cat!'
The bird that sat
Sneezed at last, and it was as if
The tree had shuddered - but had not really!
The snake that slithered round and round the massive trunk
Slipped and fell upon the ground with a sudden thud.
A sound was heard: the fluttering of wings, and other things
A creature besides, far away, singing.
An elephant lumbered its hungry way across the plain
And everything else was much the same.
But somewhere, up there, behind the starry skies
A lot of gossip going on, back and forth, about right and wrong.
O' Bed! You lusty old fool!
In whose soft embrace all foolish dreams come
In sleep, when I all moral thought suspend,
Wilt thou not for me portend!
My Mattress Mistress, Misfit I
Ready to come and ready to die.
For Sale...But Not Worth It!
O' you and I, we sell ourselves short,
Afraid of advertising false; furious,
When the would-be buyer falls for our honest pitch
And leaves us there upon the shelf,
And shuffles off in search of shit.
Come, we shall our curious talent mourn
And call a Heart a Spade.
We tried to be modest...we did!
But you were such a bad person
That we collectively decided
To rub it, our brains, in your face
And to not even rhyme;
But be better and more interesting
Than you could ever hope to be.
To be sublime,
To steal your first born from its mother's womb,
And leave a ticking time bomb in its place;
Your wife, your cocoon, your analgesics,
Your total and complete inability to perform...
(We got your girlfriend off two stops back by the way)
There she is, back there, alone, on the platform.
Tell her where you've been...go on,
If you have the balls...tell her
Bottle full of sound.
Throwing up a melody:
Hungover on a Tuesday.
Rehab around the corner;
And I have found a corner.
Somewhere to belong;
Never sing another song!
But the bottle full of sound...