Ecce Femina

That is a man

I hear you calling when the most beautiful woman I am passes you by

Merrily full of the illusion I know

Dressed up to the cheap nines

Farting your sentence

Judge and jury without bothering to hear the story

And I won't tell it then

I hear me thinking when the lying spring of central London annoys my face

Inevitably pregnant of the volcano ash

Invisibly toxic to the core

And reaching its verdict

Judge and jury without bothering to hear our story