In the alpine villiage of Boyence
Bare-chested and wearing amulets
Three hundred machete-weilding peasants,

The three hundred inhabitants,
Heard the noises made when icebergs crack
It's quite an eerie sound to here the Earth ripping

Apart like dat
In a village close to the border
Demonstrations and rioting can occur with little or no

Warning
Cheering and youthful pilgrams on the streets by the
Millions

And a command from her majesty
To order our national flowers or virgins
To converge at the Luetezieni palace on Sunday

So that they can drop their woolen tassles on Monday

Beyond a backdrop of banditry and armed rivalry

Ingeniusly barbaric machete-weilding peasants
Perform victory jigs in idolitry


Three sailors were drowned in lake
When they became entangled in underwater vegetation
Creating murky plume that stretched for miles

To a make-shift morgue
'Farewell, Cousin, because here we're frozen'
Said Hans Rutie, a successful Swiss corn broker

Ander was swept away by a swollen torrent overnight
He used to dance at the souveinr shop
Between two arrant strips of cloth

Media critic, David Shah, dies alone at 62