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The Singing Loins
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Another Folk Song About Death
I'll be squatting on the cistern while you're straining on the toilet*
On your wedding night. Shame to have to spoil it.
I'll be spying through the keyhole as you hump away in bed.
Soon the vein will burst inside your head.
Surprises are delicious. Aren't they what life's all about?
Where's the fun if you could sniff me out?
I am not cruel, partial or subjective,
So don't blame me… Oh, well, if you must.
I can't be bribed, swindled or outwitted.
If not me, who can you trust?
I nab the beauties, oh, especially the beauties.
You understand it's just my duty.
I creep right up behind them as they hit the sparkling town
And pull there knickers down.
I'll be grinning through the windscreen of that special ten ton truck.
Madam, you're about to come unstuck.
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Hell or heaven? You'll find I'm not judgemental.
I don't care. It's not my business.
O dear, oh dear, you didn't see me coming?
No big goodbye, or little kiss?
I'm the hand that grabs your ankle as you're skipping down the stairs
Whoops! Let me scoop up all your cares.
I'll escort you by the balls, sir, to a consequential date.
Nasty cough; have another fag, mate.
I might whisper self destruction as a strange compelling need
Then sidle off and whistle while you bleed.
I love to laugh at honour and resilience
And to the brave: the poison cup.
You'll often find my spittle on their faces,
And the unfulfilled crack me up.
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