Errol had one wish to live and two to die
depending upon the interval he was at,
Its beginning, or at its end.
Then at 50 he met his end.
And in a statement read by a school of fish.
They wish to express their deepest sadness.
For he was a fine one on the screen.
For no man has left this earth
with an impression so well metabolised as his.
Excuse this dictionary word, the fish cannot
fully express,
Their great loss of his attention,
When he looked down at them and stared,
His moments of inner peace being rare.
The ladies, smitten by his charm,
are smitten no more, and so are the fish,
around Sirocco, rotting at its moor.

Their Cure

Got filmed picking my nose by a tourist when on tour,
Was busted again pissing where I shouldn’t have,
Gave the finger to a man of importance,
Thought I’d moon the first astronaut I saw.
Famous I am the whole world over,
Luckier than finding a four-leaf clover.
Yep, that’s me; an uncomplicated self,
Goofing off in front of somebody’s iPhone.
Why may you ask, should this yob be recorded
Not for charity work, but for spittin’ out a gorbie?
Well, I’ll tell you; I don’t care to be famous.
I want infamy and all that goes with it.
Notoriety is the name of my simple game.
The Queen wouldn’t expect any more from me.
Why should she? She of an exemplary state.
It’s too late for me; I was born unstable.
Stealing my first coin at the age of two.
But you don’t want to hear about that sad, sad story.
Just my obsessive pursuits for unglamorous glory.
The Pope seeks an audience; the Dalai Lama too.
How do I do it? How can they find their cure?

Scratching Entertainment from a Pile of Tinsel Incendiaries

Off he goes shovelling funster food into his dumpster gob
For the tenth time today
And he ain’t even fat
How ‘bout that!
And his praying with the drink on a humid Friday afternoon
Glass in every position
Congratulate him people
He’s a wanted man!
We’re looking about for an extension to his nervous tension
His feet tapping left to right
When he’s standing
Thinking of turning himself inside out for our canny audience
Seated backwards
Heads bow slowly
Patience for the bile!
When all else fails try trading in his skin for a different colour
Out there dad is disapproving
The church; ah the church
Easy what, to show it up!
C’mon freak, unzip the swimming stuff from your scrotum
There ain’t no women here
No babies to get scared of
Be damned your inhibitions!
Now he’s sitting with a ukulele playing his psychedelic teeth
No notes harmonising
Like the blues going straight
What for? May you ask!
And another thing he can almost quietly and very eerily do
Don’t be shocked
The type of guy he is
How he seeks approval!
Here’s his ego dancing like a leper ballerina lurking speed
They’re a double act
The pay gets bigger
And the manager says so!
The tensions been thrown into the playground with his skin
Nothing left but self-esteem
A strong sense of self
Some kind of purpose or what!
He’s thoughtful of the audience; for they have been truly truly
Very nubile to his act
Willing to digest the news
Hey this glum guy is hot!