We Can All Escape From This Hotel
Clutching and screaming they summoned you hither
Primping and preening you dithered alone
Wielding a single, old-fashioned trombone
An oboe, a harp, a handcrafted zither
A smurf guitar you should have outgrown
Standing there clutching your tools of annoyment
Silently gasping in outward distress
Longing to augment your musical mess
She does all she can to curtail your enjoyment
While you insist at times more is less
Under the arches the strain is tremendous
Everything turns on the roll of the dice
Love on the rocks and tequila on ice
There is nothing, my lads, quite as stupendous
As catching the moment when men become mice
| Contributors: | Barry Foster, jm, loaf, F, Kansas Sam, Chevalier. |
| Poem finished: | 23rd February 2006 by F. |