Eyelash Radio
Necessity's the mother of invention
And plenitude the seasoning of years
For those who shun this trite contention
They must have different stuff than mine between their ears
They must have strange agendas, odd conceptions
The must inhabit a world unlike our own
Bewildered by peculiar self-deceptions
The baseless creeds they hold for which they must atone
So – not for them the randomised decision;
We hug the shelf whilst they patrol the trench
It's Arabic we use, for its precision,
Although, to be honest, it sounds better in French
I, on the other hand, prefer delusion
The frozen sheath, the marbled paper lung
And so it is I've come to this conclusion
That filth is the peg on which my hopes hung
Contributors: | Glider, (trad), Apsley, Roland, Anon., Grayman, Beefy. |
Poem finished: | 5th August 2002. |