The woodpigeon was a give-away. It was the thing that used to exist beneath the buzzing flies and crawling maggots. Suppose it was was Walt Disney saw as the cycle of life. That was the thing with Disney, hard facts sugar-coated for the kids to swallow; supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Life wasn’t going to get any better for that dead woodpigeon anytime soon.
He gave it a wide birth and crossed to the other side of the road. As he was doing so, his stomach took a turn and threatened to explode straight out of his mouth. The unexpected need to vomit landed on him and, before he could take another step, he was bent double expelling the frugal contents of his last meal. Sardines in tomato sauce didn’t taste so good the second time. The agony of his wretch made the constant pounding in his head into thunderclaps and this combined with another wave of nausea that succeeded in loosening his balance. He fell face down into his puke, hitting the deck as a deadweight, and barely registered the instant of agony.
When he came around again, he was not sugar-coated. And the flies were upon him.
Even though the sound of it
Is something quite atrocious
If you say it loud enough
You’ll always sound precocious
And where was that singing coming from?