Plane Of Placenta
Tribulation, fear and woe
That's the way we like to go
To the bonfire of our hopes
To a knockout on the ropes
To the depths of Acheron
To the plosives spilt in Bonn
For we journey to a place
Where dwells he whom none dares face
Fidel Castro's not his name
Notwithstanding Krushchev's claim
Che Guevara called him bro'
And he, if anyone, should know
That a beard'll just get yanked
Though the chin be sacrosanct
For our razors have been stropped
More than hair will soon be lopped
| Contributors: | Apsley, Roland, Beefy, asdf, F. |
| Poem finished: | 1st November 2004 by Beefy. |