78. Blood and chocolate and bunnies. (March 2015)

This lyric was written as a follow up to a trio of pieces written for last Christmas titled “The Man Who Killed Christmas, A trilogy in red and silver”. Two of the three featured a certain character in wide brimmed hat and black & red jumper with bad skin and terrible taste in false nails. This was a lot of fun.

The approach of Easter was too good to turn down. So here we have a comeback I thoroughly enjoyed writing and was topical just a week or so ago. “A solo piece in chocolate and foil”.

78. Blood and chocolate and bunnies. (March 2015)

As eggs that don’t boil,
Are taken outta their foil,
There’s strange goings on,
That give cause to wonder,
About the familiar jumper,
Stalking the jumper that bounces,
And the one that embodies the season,
May end up disembodied and seasoned,

As eggs and kids roll down the hill,
Easter Bunny jumps as he thrills,
To leap with joy among the daffodils,
All at peace among the blooms,
But all too soon he sees all too late
While they all roll down they never return again,
And who’s that hidden in the bushes, anyway?
Among the corpses in the copse,

Not for Bugs a cheerful chocolate fate,
He should’ve leapt instead of stared,,
At the stalks that let slip fake heads,
No more smart remarks, no more carrots,
An arterial flourish makes for a colourful finish,
As he feels an altogether different thrill,
Thanks to the flashing headless blooms that kill,
It’s not looking well, right now,

Freddie’s back, and he’s wanting his eggs,
There’ll be no love among the chocolate dead.

(c) Jim Laing 2015.
Outtakes.

1.Uncomplicated
2.I hope you’re happy now
3.Tokyo storm warning
4.Home is anywhere you hang your head
5.I want you
6.Honey, are you straight or are you blind
7.Blue chair
8.Battered old bird
9.Crimes of Paris
10.Poor Napoleon
11.Next time round

In this season whose reason,
Is the newly dead resurrecting,
There’s some who take part,
That get straight to the heart,
Of the need to rise from the dead
In the first place,
Then as eggs that don’t boil,
Were taken out of their foil,

As eggs that don’t boil,
Are taken out of their folk,
Those that jump,
Are stalked by those in their jumpers,

As eggs that don’t boil,
Are taken outta their foil,
There’s strange goings on,
That give cause to wonder,

There are some jumpers now,
That stalk the jumpers that bounce,
And the one that embodies the season,
Will end up disembodied and seasoned,
It’s not looking well right now,

High winters season of consumption and lies,
Saw an old nuisance awaken and stir,
And doing more than stretch fingers,
In cocked hat and black and red stripes,
As eggs and kids roll down the hill,
Easter Bunny jumps as he thrills,
To leap with jiy among the daffodils,
in the daffs he leaps and laughs,
All at pease among the blooms,
But too soon sees the ones made of steel too late,,
But all too soon he meets its all too late,
Not for him no more a cheerful chocolate fate,
He should’ve leapt instead of stared,,
At the stalks that let slip fake heads,
Now he has an arterial flourish for a colourful finish
As an arterial flourish makes for a colourful finish,
He feels an altogether different fleeting thrill,
Amongst the flashing dancing headless blooms that kill,
Then as eggs that don’t boil,
Were taken out of their foil,

As eggs that don’t boil,
Are taken out of their folk,
Those that jump,
Are stalked by those in their jumpers,

in the daffs he leaps and laughs,

But too soon sees the ones made of steel too late,,
But all too soon he meets its all too late,

Among the corpses and the baskets,

Not for him no more a cheerful chocolate fate,

Now he has an arterial flourish for a colourful finish
There are some jumpers now,
That stalk the jumpers that bounce,
In this season whose reason,
Is the newly dead resurrecting,
There’s some who take part,
That get straight to the heart,
Of the need to rise from the dead
In the first place,

High winters season of consumption and lies,
Saw an old nuisance awaken and stir,
And doing more than stretch fingers,
In cocked hat and black and red stripes,

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About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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