Why wash your filthy hands into my meal?
Why spoil my solitude, is it a sin?
Why rob me of comfort; why steal my feel?
Li’l fly, d’you wish to die or live a foe?
No answer? Prepare for my deaf’ning blow!
This is a warning, the first and last
A plea, of course, your life to spare
Engage your flaps, away now and fast
Your presence is useless, not that I care
Turn off your music, avert this doom
Save the acrobatics, flies, leave my room
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.