The strangest dream I think I ever had
involved Alistair Crowley and the Marquis de Sade,
in a bathtub filled with jellied eels
whilst ZZ Top in kitten heels,
pranced around a bloodstained floor,
singing 'Boogie Nights!' to a sobbing whore.

Then Marc Bolan banged the gong
and dinner was served on Annabel Chong
so Ringo Starr picked his chopsticks up
and beat out a rhythm on the base of a cup,
while Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen and E.A. Poe
sang 'Happy Birthday, Mr President' to Marilyn Monroe.

Then much to everyone's desire
Oscar Wilde arose from his seat by the fire,
announcing 'Brandy and cigars with Monica and Bill,
in the drawing room if one will
be so pleased and honoured to follow me,
for I am a genius, it's plain to see.'

Then I awoke with a sudden start
and the pounding of blood churning round my heart.
It was then a realisation dawned
that to my left was a sleeping blonde.
Who am I, why none other than J.F.K. on blow
in the presidential bed with Marilyn Monroe.