Imperial Fiddlesticks
By Michael Valentine
Fri, 27 Feb 2015
- 1472 reads
5 comments
2 likes
Imperial Fiddlesticks
I confessed to be a poor man
And before long the sky twinkled
How can a man get far when the nights are spent upon his back?
You see, such sufferers will topple at the tipple of a hat
Well, can you climb atop a raincloud?
Have you ever seen your figurine atop a cake?
Is my boredom my illness, or is it my pain?
Or, in this context, is it all the same?
The kitchen window is broken
The kitchen worktops are soaking
My hopes, dashed, and my romantic dreams scorned
My top-hat, unworn, and the wedding-coat, torn
My tea is cold and my lighter won’t catch
So it’s an evening, alone, a starlit and cold bath
Goodness gracious, my imperial sweetheart
And good golly, imperial kitten
Heaven above, imperial fiddlesticks
O! Lordy, I don’t imagine I’ll be home for dinner
I confessed to be a poor man
And before long the doors were bolted
As I scoured the wastelands for something blue
Something borrowed and nothing new
And after all, I’ve nothing to show
A signpost in the streetlight offering nowhere else to go
So my tea is cold and my lighter won’t catch
As I take another night of solitude and a freezing cold bath
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Comments
This really appealed to me -
This really appealed to me - something very Victorian music hall about it. Fiddlesticks is a fabulous word.
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Full of music, feels like a
Permalink Submitted by Philip Sidney on
Full of music, feels like a song and a dance, even though it has a touch of the blues.
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Back to read this again. I'm
Back to read this again. I'm so intrigued by this character. I'd love to read more about him, or even write about him
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