by Nick Gisburne
Queen T is on the rampage once again
A lethal dose of fury, fused with hate
Her highest-ranking ministers, all men
Are dead as dirt, five headless heads of state
A stern decree accompanies their doom
“They spied upon me spawning in the lake!
And while this was more public than my tomb
Such vulgar mischief makes my thorax ache”
She mourns for them, despite their vacant necks
But grinds her beak with less than heartfelt pain
Demanding five more ministers, for sex
Unsatisfied, they too are swiftly slain
Her tentacles are ready for a rest
Beheading humans makes her so depressed
