As we regress from clown to clown
This one will bring us all to ground
Do no fret, Britain, do not frown
Embrace the Hell and the Hellhound.
Be happy, clappy and eat shit brown.

Really folks, don’t even bother kvetching. It’s done. And don’t imagine for a moment that young Rishi wouldn’t have been any better. It’s called Entropy, see. A cada bugada es perd un llencol, said The Poet. He was spot on; poets often are. Never mind. Go with Mehitabel and enjoy whatever life, of whatever kind, you may have left.
Have some more pop poetry:
Lizzie Borden took an axe
and gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done,
she gave her father forty-one.

And un’po’ di totally For The Hell of It mu’: