the monster wakes

i keep him deep

and sound asleep

counting cold and dead black sheep

his flirty wings

are dirty things

tightly strapped by my heartstrings

he's good as gold

if proof be sold

but he's been known to be quite bold

and when upfront

calls me a cunt

it's just a sticks and sharp stones stunt

i'd let him loose

complete with noose

and watch him hang our flag of truce

his skin is red

and mainly dead

he walks where angels fear to tread

when he's awake

things will break

the given gift; the goodness sake

for now, he's tired

not worldly wired

but take good care; some guns get fired...