They say the seas catfight by night,
that rabbling gales scorch huddled girls?
Well, toffee, Haiti howls, that’s right.

Lizards and ladies stoned in deserts,
rows of heads popped by rocks in red little shocks?
Oh, poppet, the tongue that cocks will cop it.

And grannies and mice are vial mummies in cold countries,
mummies in others suck gun through their gums?
The choice, Lucy Locket, is yours to grace this earth.

Liver, cornea, lymph rotted from rust in water,
babies burping the expiration of suicide daddies?
Every little helps through WaterAid monthly, kiddo.

But the tremor of stars stirs furious lovers together?
Yes. Points and counterpoints horrify me.

And the migratory Brahminy kites swoon at Lake Chilika?
Pumpkin, most folk are wanting to flee.

Maybe I’ll whistle to see who picks up my tune?
Weigh it up, petal, maybe we’ll see you soon.