At five o-clock the skies will rock

To the thumping sound of toads raining down

Along with frogs and dogs

Cats and gnats.

The train of pain of those in the bed

The crippled the dying and those already dead.

At twelve Midday I suggest you pray.

The clouds will part and Meteors will start

To pelt the Earth and with fiery mirth

Satans wit will pile on the shit

And send with this rain a shedload more pain.

At the end of this day

The ground will melt clean away

As the baking might of the celestial night

Cooks up the number of those who dare slumber.

Apart from that the weather’s fine.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Christine Anne Borra
    May 13, 2011 @ 11:01:32

    that is brillant John 🙂


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