Young Writers Society

Corridors stretch and curb the ashes of Time

producing the vilest of disheveled voo-doo figurines

And worse still, those bleu-draped Swines

Pretend they teach, yet merely prance around with tambourines.

The Incorrect, they like to stare at fields so clandestine

Rejoice! The grandfather clock strikes three.

alas! The Swines have seized ye with bonds of clementines

And only if thou bend down and renounce thee wretched pleas

For nothing save an acceptable alias can ever deem ye cursed Free...

Second stanza

The last beauty, she rides upon a carriage adorned with shrines

remembering not but all the same; bitter-love remedies

Calloused hands, crimson-drenched robes, still cannot fly

Fastidiously elegant sent on trial for lack of decadence and Asbestine

"The fire, it scorches me," shrieks Methamphetamine

Her reverence cleanses the bitterest trees

strike, dear mistress; The Ringleader doth purge thee inner tendencies

And taciturnly liquidate the hides of treacherous bees

hithertho! Methamphetamine devoid of His guts and charm; now the misfit mistress 

hurriedly, dandily, flees...

Third stanza

O! For none sounds so swell than a Minuet's chime

Her dear friend, how she craved, blessed by a jester's guillotine

Welled up like the ruthless rose, who could nought spare a dime

If only the Swines and their serpents, did not cut throats so pristinely

Instead establish a fruitless bond and unto cats multiply and breed

Her camel's cigarette billows; Marie Antoinette's death-entity

Tries to erase, naturally beaten; the Swines vaporised her cat-whistling reed

And now, wond'ring uselessly; her Beauty a decaying weed

Envoi

A stupid girl, a stupid boy, androgynous destinies

though first arriveth in thy house and engulf torrents of peas

Those futile swines and their hapless grotesqueries

Shroud every last conscious act, reduced to a Correct

praise thee! Cries Time; a heap of Rotwein fleas!