Ramblings

My gift is my song, and this one's for you.

(Also inspired by JB)

You don't need to like carrots to live in my house,
Because when we live there, you can have curry sauce,
And I'll just have carrots.

It's my sincerest hope that
You don't turn into a bulimic after all the curry sauce,
Because looking like John Prescott can't be much fun for anybody,
And that includes John Prescott.

I also hope that by then you will have turned off your invisibility,
So that I will be able to see you standing behind me in the kitchen.
Otherwise I might spill the sangria,
And it might turn the floor slippy, and I might look a dancing penguin,
But without the wicked cool part.

By then the Jelly should be finally ready, so we can enjoy that,
and watch videos of Gerald. Who was livid.

It's nice that there will be a box provided for the magazines, because
You don't want to answer the door in your pants,
And for some reason I have never been in the equasion for answering the door myself.

And you can tell everybody, that this is your song.
Although whether you'll want to judging by it's quality is anybody's guess.

--FIN--

N.B. Normal blogging service resumes next week fans.
N.B.2 - Notice how all my songs don't actually have any music. That's because they are post-modern songs.