Thursday, 27 January 2011

Twenty Seven

The modern mummy tapes his eyes
And face with masking tape,
He sleeps in a casket made of gaffa
And at night he's kept awake

With restless thoughts of Kings and Queens
Who died and were embalmed;
Of weighted hearts and heart eaters,
Of afterlives and calm.

The modern mummy goes to bed,
And sleeps 'til half past three,
As though he's scared to wake the dead,
Until he wakes and makes some tea.

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