I fear for my life,
I’m being silently stalked, unbeknownst to my wife,
By her beautiful hair, so flowing and fair,
Which is literally fucking everywhere.

At night as I sleep, round my neck it wraps,
One of a multitude of traps,
It sets, to catch me unaware,
Evil, cunning, clever hair.

It sneaks its way on my toast and butter,
I choke and splutter, like some fucking nutter,
All the while the hair watches on,
Knowing that someday soon I’ll be gone.

In the aftermath,
I decide to wind down with a nice hot bath,
In the plughole the silky assassins await,
Plotting and scheming a watery fate.

I start to dose, and the hairball arose,
Like an endless clot from a bloody nose,
Tinged with slime, hell bent on crime,
But I flee from the tub in the nick of time.

Then head downstairs and turn on the light,
Where I sit and await the passing of night,
And curse the day through a rueful sob,
That I ever suggested she get a bob.

THE (split) END