The Hiker - Momus

Insisting on hiking «commando»

(He claims for the sake of his health)

Everyone knows that

Wherever he goes that

The hiker is pleasing himself

Dressed up in sackcloth and ashes

In memory of his late wife

Whose body is strapped to his bicycle

Flying behind like a kite

The hiker’s real name is Frank Randle

His grey hair pinned up in a bun

Flopping in sandals

Away from his scandals

The hiker is having such fun

The pollen beneath his proboscis

The snuff in its pouch on a string

The hiker’s erecting his tent now

His fucksack spread out on the ground

He seems to be thriving

Though winter’s arriving

And death tags around like a bloodhound

The black girls sit up in the branches

Swinging their legs in the rain

The filthy old hiker

Is down on his bike

Pumping his organ again

Munching a bar of black chocolate

Swigging the tea from a flask

His frankly disgusting

Appendage is thrusting

Out of its Elastoplast

Amongst nettles and shrubs

And deciduous trees

In a hammock he’s made with his dick

He is a force

Of nature of course

His rotting wife strapped to his back

The pollen beneath his proboscis

The ghost flying high on her string

The hiker must reason

No matter what season

For him it’s eternally spring

The hiker’s real name is Frank Randle

His grey hair pinned up in a bun

Flopping in sandals

Away from his scandals

The hiker is having such fun