so jeopardy and danger flow without,
within, and round about, and where can I
escape, where fly, where run, I cry, I shout,
you rat! romance is dead. farewell. goodbye.
I slice his suits up, shave his afghan hound,
immerse his laptop in a sea of foam
with oil of lavender, because I've found
it keeps him calm (I like a happy home).
the gas is on, not lit, you understand,
a ripe banana's stuck up his exhaust,
the house is wired up wrong, you see, I planned
this out in case my desperate hand was forced.
his chances of survival now are slim
since lipstick on his collar told on him...