sirs,

men and sires,

let’s raise a glass—

a toast,

to better days to come

the ones without

the wretched,

the indecent,

and liars.

for they bring us down,

make us look like us fools,

so

my fellow gentlemen

let us cheer

let us raise a glass

in unison we chant

she is never coming back

ding dong the witch is dead

it is about time my brother,

we thought you would never recover

from her frivolous grasp

and her grip so tight

we thought my fellow gentleman

you would never survive

for they were correct,

what did she have to gain

from telling the truth of her

barbarous slain

if a woman is to lay unconscious

unmoving and still

it is a man’s destiny

it is his will

it is his god given right

to do what he wants to her,

into the night.

hands inside

rub around,

all while she doesn’t make a sound.

take her hand and do exactly

what you’re thinking

start to take off her pants

without even blinking

while she is limp

in the deepest of sleeps

my fellow gentleman

sirs, men and sires

she will not wake

it is your secret to keep.

and if she does,

come here and raise a glass with me

and him,

and him too,

and we will raise a glass with you,

for violation of one is not a grey

let us roast and toast,

and hope it goes away

for

she was wretched indecent

a liar,

what did she have to gain

from telling the truth

of her barbarous slain.