Morphine, Like her sister Absinthe, Has a slender, glass waist, But she is not as green, And lacks Taste. Both have Fragile wings And whisper things You didn't want To know, One with A hint of mint, The other's breath As cold as snow.
The BBC have a new weather girl, Her hair is blond and her necklace... pearl, She warns bearded fishermen about rough seas, While I stand here with my boxers, Around my knees.
Some are friendly and like to be kissed, Some are lonely with cuts on their wrist, But some have found, When a man is around, That it's surprisingly easy to walk into a fist.
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
Life is a mother-in-law... pleasant at first, But then in creeps doubt, You feel you'll be found out, And then you feel bad, And wonder who'll be more mad, Your wife... or her dad?