And Time the vandal doesn't care,
He lines your face and thins your hair.
November comes. Don't let him in.
It's Halloween, and getting late.
A man is standing at your gate.
The Exorcist to say a mass?
Not quite. He's here about the gas.
So never mind that you're depressed
To find your child has been possessed,
The victim of some ancient hex -
He wants to sell you Calortex.
Have pity on the seahorse male
With spiny mane and twining tail
Who mates and then is duty-bound
To cart the unhatched eggs around
And though he's tired and losing weight
He's still molested by his mate;
And if she doesn't get her way
She calls the Seahorse CSA.
They'll soon be cloning childless men -
I think about this now and then,
A vision of a world gone mad
Where Bob's your uncle and your dad
Then, further down the line, your son
Till in the end, Bob's everyone.
Religions may declare it crime:
I'm sure that they'll relent in time.
When scientists complete their job
We'll go to church and worship Bob.
Ron Davies went. It's only right.
But what was going on that night?
He met those strangers, did a deal
And went with them to have a meal.
They stole his money, left him there
And then they vanished in thin air...
It must have been an awful day.
In Ron's defence I'd like to say
How standard this experience is
For people in the music biz.
The new Top Five, dull as could be,
And most of them are known to me
Except Alanis Morissette.
An unfamiliar disc and yet
I knew I'd heard that name before...
My grandma drove one in the war.
The river rises, countryman,
Equip yourself as best you can.
Flippers,wet-suit, mini-sub -
I hope you make it to the pub.Reuse content