Choose a previous weeks' poem from the index on the left.
Please decease me, let me go,
For I can’t stick this any more:
Can’t live my life on solid ground,
So decease me and bring the mobile round.
I would like to disappear,
And you guys have the lethal gear.
You’re death on wheels, or so I’m told.
So decease me, my darling. I’m too old.
Please decease me, needle me:
For Eurovision’s misery.
The BBC has brought me to the brink –
So decease me, and sink this Humperdinck.