Pestilence

Debauchery and disco with the devil is divine.

When it's time to pay the fiddler, it's a sour taste you'll find.

The organ grinder grinds, while the monkey takes your dime.

To have the monkey on your back, is to pay a hefty fine.

The minds of ill-repute, simply follow in the suit,

of the ones who march along to their own song.

Upright against the fence, sits the cure for pestilence,

With a note marked: You or me, choose only one.

It's fun to play the puppet master, he controls the show,

but when the lights fade, he's left without a place to go.

Merry maids with milk and honey, bounce around the room,

Until they marry Mr. money, and rush to fill the womb.

To the fill the void with wine and dine, will often leave you empty.

Bread and water with your love, soon becomes the envy.

A necklace made of gold, can tighten like a noose.

When a gander at the truth leaves you angry at the goose.

 A nail in the coffin speaks the final word.

One look back is not enough to realize how absurd.