Ferocious bullet-rain comes screaming in.
Machine tap-dance: rat-a-tat-a-tat!
Protecting both my ears from all the din,
I lie down on the floor, quite pancake flat;
My eyes are level with the welcome mat.
I scream, “But don’t you know that murder’s sin?!”
The answer is a hole straight through my hat.
This threat of instant death is wearing thin.
Guns down, he starts his chainsaw with a grin,
Delivers fatal blows to next-door’s cat,
Whose gored remains he drapes across my bin.
Awash with bloody fur and feline splat,
He asks if he can come in for a chat,
“And while I’m there, I’ll slice off all your skin!”
I shriek, “I’m not a masochist, you twat!”
This threat of instant death is wearing thin.
In one hand’s a grenade without a pin,
The other holds a nail-encrusted bat.
There’s not a chance that I could ever win
A fight against a brute who’s armed like that!
My life’s a sinking ship, and I’m a rat.
“It’s time,” he taunts, “to let the fun begin!”
My heart responds with “BOOM!” not pitter-pat.
This threat of instant death is wearing thin.
Punk! I knew you’d want to squash me like a gnat,
And that is why I poisoned your sloe gin,
So, soon you’ll be a corpse inside my flat.
This threat of instant death is wearing thin.
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