Inside a Drum
I dreamt of a washing machine,
In colours so obscene,
Of shades of caffeine,
It washed everything that was clean,
To a shiny muddy unclean,
It was part of it's routine,
It was never to fond of hygiene,
I found an old tureen,
In gross shades of lime-green,
With a three feet sardine,
And I counted one of sixteen,
Tiny little soybean,
I found something murine,
Frosting sunscreen,
Between,
A pair of nankeen,
And jeans that were lean,
With a 10 pound bean,
Covered in fleshy dentine,
As well crushed strychnine,
Mixed in with liquid morphine,
With a hint of codeine,
To create a used vaccine,
I excavated further into the drum,
My left shoe stepped into gum,
My hands found bottles of rum,
As well a skull of a pilgrim,
A sock with a 44 magnum,
Guarding the used sock kingdom,
Hear muses singing like a threesome,
The kingdom’s national anthem,
I saw a shadowy possum,
Come out of a rectum,
And I became bum,
When it proposed a threesome
Between it ,me and my right thumb,
I started to have a symptom,
That began to blossom
And needed a valium,
Or a serum,
To rid of this irksome,
Three things made up an outcome,
I had a possum,
Who thinks is handsome,
My thumb,
Excess sucking of sheer gruesome,
Melting feelings to a num,
And pressing against my sternum
And now I feel really dumb,
Stuck inside a drum
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