Parsec Progression Beyond
What are the odds
That fifteen sods
Should come to think as one?
That they such discrete matter
As bathing-trunks and batter
And have so much unbridled fun
Who would have thought
That fourteen ought
Could have a meeting of the minds?
That we could open our hearts
Like so many surgery parts
Without getting blood on the blinds?
How can you tell
When you're in Hell?
Oh well.
Contributors: | Roland, Apsley, loaf, Lee, Beefy, Ethetran, jm, archaeopteryx. |
Poem finished: | 28th January 2004 by Anon.. |