Vile

There's less of him
The rest of him
and all that was the best of him
has left here
and gone westerly
the heft, it finally got to him

In interim
Don't sing to him
He's churning out some stinking hymn
And all he's really thinking is
that change is not the thing for him

So down the drain
Goes dishwater
The all and nought that stands for her
And now the joke's the thought of her
From mother down to grand-daughter

Is violence so much a sin?
It does what it says on the tin
Not crying to some violin
Not trying to be vile in
A way which violated him.