Big Black Book of Shadowy Sin

A poem

Led by a purple otter

Paddling past your watery grave

Where the porpoise lives on usury

And the penguin is his slave

Where the cockle-bells

Make human shells

Their everyday parade

And the Fates lie in a road wreck

While the Pigs devour their face.

BEHOLD! The strange new wonderworld

Of greasy hooves and lies:

Depravity, if illogical, has a goal or at least a desire

But all you are is empty greed

And maggots on anything higher

He feels himself the grandest

He vaguely deserves a prize

It ought to be my flesh, I see

A filthy hand over my eyes.

Here come subhuman monsters,

Wearing the skins of kings:

Rabid otter-monkeys

With a hoard of nickel-plate rings.