by Nick Gisburne
I’m sorry, not tonight, love, not inside
The shoes are not the problem, or the dress
I’ve spoken to the manager. I’ve tried
But nothing I could say would get a ‘yes’
Your twisted limbs are all the wrong way round
And somehow you are missing half a head
Unless your vital organs can be found
Be sensible. Accept it. You are dead
Agreed, you’re looking wonderful in black
The bleeding clearly complements your skin
A heart and lungs are really all you lack
Without them, though, you won’t be coming in
The rules are simple, sensible and fair
No drugs. No people savaged by a bear
