So sad the cemetary stood, Rows of identical crosses Commemorating wasted lives And pointless sacrifice for glory. One rainlashed day I was there with a fat little **** I knew To inspect her great-grandfather's grave; A hero who had repeatedly groped his own daughter Shortly before meeting death in Paschendael's slaughter.
My friend elegantly squatted, hovering o'er the grave And performed a perfect Valsalva manoeuvre, Depositing a well-aimed sausage thereupon. "That's for you, you grandmotherfucker" She gaily murmured sotto voce. But tragedy struck: a defecation syncope Caused her collapse, skull smashed on the gravestone; "I'm in the ****," was her final tragic moan.