A photo framed,
A face that’s staring,
And past all caring.
Torn and tattered
Youth lies rotten;
Thought it mattered;
Gone – forgotten.
She is ancient and set in her ways
And her chassis has seen better days;
Every joint now it creaks
But when selling antiques,
Then the punter, for patina, pays.
Yes, she has lots of miles on her clock,
And though little’s worn under her frock,
She is not quite as quick
So a slow motion trick
Tends to lessen the backfire and knock.
Slut burgers are coming our way.
Perky Paris would just like to say
To our daughters and sons:
“Try these nice juicy buns,
And get fat the American way!”
So get into this latest fast food.
Take a look at yourself in the nude,
With each calf now a cow
And a gut like a sow,
Then your health will be utterly screwed.
Yes, slut burgers are coming down under.
They’re a fat packing, lip smacking wonder.
Soon your body will swell
To a size XXL,
And your clothes will be splitting asunder.
What is this tale you want me to believe?
That these barbarians destroy their own?
Obliterate their flesh, their blood, their bone?
Of such conduct you know I can’t conceive;
But tell me, do the perpetrators grieve
When what they’ve done they contemplate alone:
A being never born, so never grown?
Those gone before their time do they bereave?
But friend, I think this story is not true.
Such things don’t happen in enlightened times.
I think you have by liars been beguiled.
No men or women slaughter their issue.
No! gone are such horrendous, heinous crimes;
No one would choose to kill an unborn child.