16th Minute The Shame

Says Lord Death
to History, hussy most prodigal,
‘O my Gypsy Girl,
seeing only
one of your eerie areolae 
is purgatory,

(purr-ur-ur-ur-ur-ervgrrtory!)

But Daughter Fama, 
she’s a different story.

Meanwhile back on Earth, it’s raining cats ‘n’ kids.
Teddybear at the jugular, I snuggle my deathwish.
Hooray, the next Hitler just stayed in bed
coz everyone had a bigger willy on the World Wide Web
(and a bonus ball.)

Fama’s bednotches 
are a chiselled quintillion,
but one of her private dances 
would by my public redemption!

Says Lord Death,
‘A game of chess
seems like quite a rigmarole
- Brother Birth sails thru
with mascarpone and Rohypnol,

(ro-O-woah-woah-woah-woah-
ripper-vial!)

But Madame Fama 
even opened her legs in a manger.

Meanwhile, back on earth, it’s raining frogs and crickets.
Least I outlived that bitch who died in the Ritz.
To the last an arsehole, my last words will be 'LOL,
did Hamlet skullfuck Yorick 
or did the G’reaper do down on Dane-dick?

Fama’s bedsprings 
have squeaked in the squeellions,
but one of her private dances
would by my public redemption!

Still back on Earth, obituary scoop:
we all wanna be Lizard Princes in our youth.
Nevermind the groupies, I never had a group
- just woke up 28, hungover as a newt.
I wasn’t even Baron Von Am-
fibbyanne!

Fama’s bedclothes 
are No-Manned with jizzillions,
but one of her private dances 
would be my public redemption!