Nothing works here,
Nothing has, maybe never,
Everything is for a price,
Some things require even more;

When men of the creeks,
Suddenly said goodbye to peace,
And embraced every evil form,
Planting fear into one and all;

All sorts of carrots materialised,
Thick ones, juicy ones, even the strange,
A taste for the better things,
Bigger headache for the authorities;

Who will chain the monster,
On the loose, terrifying all,
Insatiable taste for carrots,
Always wanting more and more?