I Hate Nerys Hughes

Saint Vitus came to my town and visited the cemetery.

The dead got up and everything became one big cacophony.

They all went down the social and they claimed their

supplementary,

and all the necrophiliacs were walking round in misery.

The rattling mass of calcium went shopping in the

superstore

careering down the aisles like one big psychopathic

carnivore

The shelf-stacker’s work of art in ecstacy crashed to the

floor,

and, meanwhile, the saint was going crazy at the fire

door.

Ah, the beautiful, sparkling healthy spa water of Bath,

in Avon.

I hate Nerys Hughes.

I hate Nerys Hughes.

I hate Nerys Hughes.

I hate Nerys Hughes.