Macbeth - Momus

Have you known the hideous sickness of Macbeth

As he sleepwalks into violence and to death

With his wife, that haggard crone

And though it doesn’t help to moan

It seems that moaning’s what that hideous bitch does best

There are scripperscrappers scratching at your door

The police won’t take your phonecalls any more

And the terrible old man controls

A hound with phosphate fangs and sends him

Galloping towards you on the moor

Have you never heard the cellar killer say

That perhaps tonight will be your lucky day

It may be a hollow boast

Or you may be already toast

For after all this is the Scottish play