A bed time story

Like a chicken without a head
Not knowing where to run
Wanting to be whole again
And once again have fun

Hitting trees and whacking poles
Running out of breath
All thats left now for the chook
Is a slow and painful death

Pluck it raw, gut it out
Cook it for an hour
Look its ready, yummy yum!
Ready for me to devour


© copyright 2006 by Dark