Oh Mistress Qin, Oh Mistress Qin
I’d like to rummage in your bin
Imagine what I’d find in there
A stale pork pie, a scrap of hair
I’d eat the one and save the rest
To lay upon my heaving breast
When all the world is turning cold
And I’m returning to the mold.
It probably won't be long at this rate. Insanity is almost as dangerous as smoking.