I always think that she is mad,
She is mad and hatefully so,
Mad to make up all these demons,
Mad to sit them on their pedestals.
I've often watched her late at night,
As she babbled hastily,
Slaving away with ragged tools,
Applauding the autocracy.
Crumpled pamphlets framed, displayed,
Beginning "unfortunately"
Unfortunately you give a damn,
Unfortunately you are mad.
Father Prozac, Mother Valium,
Fill us up with omega three,
All that's precious in the Thames,
That demoniac degree.
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