O Candle from the strike of 75
I’m sure amazed to find you are alive
If I had matches, I would like to light you.
But I have none, so I will simply bite you.
Oh, hoard of Andrex toilet paper
You will come in so handy later.
If I had room I’d hang you on the wall
Until I feel that certain nagging call.
Oh,sugar,honey sweet I can preserve you
And for the upper people serve you.
Then as they all go skowly diabetic
They’ll know how simply sweet is your polemic.
We had these frequent shortages of laughter
As we were not allowed to talk or behave dafter.
Yet though we have designer kitchens splendid
I prefer to gnaw on politicians languid