From Underneath Diana's Toast
Its stuns me, like it stuns us all
To stare, as sequin'd snowflakes fall
Into a flame of burning fire,
Akin to ashes, but yet higher:
And why? The cinders clog our throats
The crystals melt and will not float,
And all around us forms decay
Be mindful of our numbered days.
It irks me, but it irks not them
To see, full of life and vim,
The latest vicar crash his car
Inside a Paris tunnel deep,
This sharp derailment seems to jar
The media both near and far.
It shocked my mum, it shocked the queen,
It shocks the parish magazine:
It shocks the bull, it shocks the crow,
It shocks the folk who think they know
But yet the one who it shocks most,
Is she to whom we drink our toasts
It pains me and it pains my chum.
It pains me till my heart turns numb,
It pains my head and pains my toes,
It pains me where the heartache shows
But yet we stumble through our days,
Till all becomes a loathsome haze;
And when the blessed night descends
We're forced to meet untimely ends.
| Contributors: | Roland, Fat Freddy's Cat, Stacy, The Agent Apsley, TG. |
| Poem finished: | 19th April 1998. |