Stolen From Steel Factory Sirens
The skies were heavy as an ounce of osmium,
And dark as the hate between Serb and Bosnian,
As leaden as a lump of lead in a lead-lined box
Or the putrid embrace of a doxy with the pox
In short, it looked like rain
My thoughts turned inward with the force of lihium,
Confused as the fates described by the Pythian
As broken as a broken break in a brake drum
When witches whirl around a pilot's thumb
In short, I was in pain
I leant upon a rock that looked obsidian
To those of frame of mind quite Freudian
As hard as the diamond shard in hardened heart
Is the frosty love of my old Irish tart
She's short and has no brain
Contributors: | Apsley, fester, Beefy, Grayman, P, Glider. |
Poem finished: | 26th July 2002. |