Two minutes later they were both of them dead,
And so one of their ghosts to the other one said:
“What a palaver, now look at the children dancing,
Laughing and clapping and singing along,
Whilst we are now lifeless, where did we go wrong?”

Their ghosts floated away and the disco continued,
Until at precisely a quarter past nine,
One person announced: “Actually I’m not having a very good time.
This disco is dreadful, I’m on the verge of tears,
And that horrible music is hurting my ears.”
He then pulled out a shotgun and said aloud: “Cheers”,
And then proceeded to blow out his brains.

The cleaners then came on, rather discretely,
And folded up his bloody remains neatly,
Which they put in a box
And posted to his parents the following day.
Still the disco continued. No one had anything to say
About the growing death toll that the night had incurred.

Suddenly a girl screamed: “I’m a pig, not a bird,
And so I must return to my herd,
Now laid out on the butcher’s shelf.”
She pulled out a noose and strangled herself.

By half past eleven, everyone was dead:
Some bludgeoned, some crucified, some just shot in the head.
Their corpses just lay there all bloody and rotten,
And two weeks later, the incident was forgotten.
The local newspaper, on page eight had read:
“Bloodbath at disco, sixty children dead.
A minor hiccup”, is what it had said.


© 2001 Matt Everett