See the Clownfish King now,
Perched on his flute, alone,
Wincing as he tries to chew
His steak that’s made from stone.

He rides the golf cart ‘round the pie
That creeps down from the walls
And feeds the rapist strawberries
He’s locked inside his stalls.

He hugs the Pointed Polar Bear
And together loudly mourn
The loss of Pepsi, roast beef,
And (oh, yes) the King’s first born.

The daughter’s corpse was well preserved
From fins to nipple rings.
Her father hung it from a kite
Tied to his heart with string.

He dreams of her to pacify
His genocidal hand
And they do cartwheels on the sea
And stroke waves across the sand.

The cripples dance their merry dance,
The mutes now harmonize,
But alas for the Clownfish King
Who weeps jelly when he cries.