I’d heard it said that Batman’s dead
And Robin’s gone astray
I had some clue that this was true
Real men don’t dress that way
They’d scale the heights whilst dressed in tights
Like Romeo on a tryst
With cape and belt, I’d often felt
That they were limp of wrist
When dire strait and Pearly gate
Would seem to come to pass
You’d hear a clang from batarang
“We’ve come to save your arse”
My mental strife: To save my life
Yet suffer pillow’s bite?
I take a breath, I choose my death
And jump into the night
With parallax and senses lax
I land, within three feet
The alcohol had had its toll
Just a picture on the street
I just can’t please, this new disease
That’s taking up my time
Just my luck, so why the heck
Are my thoughts all couched in rhyme?
Silver trophy winner
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