I’m the song in an urchin’s spiky heart
I’m four pints of lager and a rhubarb tart
I’m stinking, sinking, old school olfactory
lost as an octopus in a rubber glove factory
I’m twisted, busted, seized up & rusted
I’m a lookalike Rosamund Pike not to be trusted
I spent fifteen years in solitary alignment
playing the angles under advisement
I’m the toad on call at a hotline for witches
I’m the holographic traffic that twitches and glitches
I’m a sexy Godzilla with a stamping fetish
sucking my tail and looking coquettish
I’m Theseus saying Jesus I’m totally fine
just gimme those scissors and a ball of twine
I walked a mile in someone else’s shoes
and gave them one star TripAdvisor reviews
I’m a crafty crofter, a wolf in wolf’s clothing
scarfing lamb kofta, full of self-loathing
I’m two steps forwards one step down
but I’m up for a drink next time you’re around