Buzz Off

Music in my head: Harmonium - Vert
Today's weather: Like the vicinity of yesterday's sambar in a dumpster.

They buzz around, the flying fiends,
And, oh! But you can’t hear them.
They stalk you now, as you read,
Even as you condemn them.
They probe and sense and size you up,
Mandibles they slowly unsheathe,
And wide-mouthed and starry-eyed,
Into your neck, they sink their teeth.
You feel the sting, you see the thing
Chewing up your sensitive skin.
You swat away, you flail away,
You squish the life right out of him.
But, oh! His work’s already done,
A little red spot- his prize.
And the next morning you open your eyes,
Look in the mirror- surprise, surprise!
A little world map burnt into your side,
Ah! Look, here’s good old Trichy.
The Doc tells you- “It’s insect pee,
You’ve sensitive skin? That’s a pity.”
Now every time you turn your head,
There’s searing pain, and one thought,
That little David felled the giant
With nothing more than a slingshot.

Nursery Cryme

Music in my head: Opeth - The Grand Conjuration
Today's weather: Sweatbox day.

Little beads of perspiration;
Going drip drip drip.
When there's no water all around
That I could sip sip sip.
And there's no electricity so that
The fan could spin spin spin.
And I'd be burned to ash outside
So I stay in in in.
A special Sunday with seven hours
Of power cut cut cut.
Take your sadistic smile and shove it
Up your butt butt butt.
Write a cheque for at least a grand
Send it to me me me.
A battery-inverter set from
The visions I see see see...
Would finally spring to vigorous life
And end this triplicate refrain.
And all the King's horses and all the King's men
Would never ever be the same again.