From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum