In the dead of night I ride my bike
And ponder things that I dislike
Fraudulent feminists and waste'o'space fuckers
Who send back my coffee

I curse you all.

Until I'm going so fast and my brakes don't work
And no Yorkian lyrics come to mind
So I slam into some unyielding place
And I'm gone and it's the sweet retribution
Of all the fuckheads I've damned
And my body has to wait til morning to be found
Because everyone was sleeping
And when they do find it
It's been gnawed at by possums and someone has taken
My mangled bike for parts.