The man in the moon said to me:
"I'm getting the urge to be free.
I'm cutting this tether
That holds us together,
And then swanning off on a spree."

So now we'll have no light at night,
But only the distant starlight;
And though the soft breeze
Still ruffles the seas,
The tides will have all taken flight.

And what of the writers of tunes?
The lover who solemnly croons?
There'll now be a dearth
Of rhymes that it's worth
Matching withJune and of spoon...

"Your face dear, is like a full... prune?
That's picked from the tree back in June.
It's wrinkled and brown,
Like the paw of a hound,
No, don't hit me, please, with that spoon."

Perhaps not.  How about substitution:

By the light of the silvery lamp,
It's raining, we get rather damp,
And stuck in this doorway
It's colder than Norway,
And now, blast, I'm getting the cramp.

Hmm, not quite:

As we walk in the light of this match,
I think some disease I will catch,
Don't want to start bitching,
But gee, how I'm itching,
I really must come up to scratch.

Maybe we'd all better emigrate to Mars:

By the light of the silvery deimos...

No, I give up.

more harmless nonsense

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Last updated: Wed, 7 Feb 2001.