There is glass to be trodden in so why rock the boat? Your face won't survive the crocs in the moat. I live in your shadow Like a hamster in a ball and it's all of a shudder when your back's to the wall.
Don't mark out you territory like some kind of dog That carpet was new now it's as brown as a bog Get of my head, now get out of it, quit or I'll shake my dandelion into an open coal pit.
I want to be rid of you cut free, like a boat On the rising tide, rising above the crocs in the moat And I want to dance madly like a cat on a stick come to cut off your head so the children can eat.
Author's note: This is the result of four years' intensive study at the Baden-Baden centre for lunatic poetry. It expresses all the things that you can do while locked up in their bright orange, conical cells. City breaks start from as little as £700 for the weekend, cheaper if you bring your own goat. see www.Jacques-Boogaart.com for details.