John Thorkild Ellison (17/04/51 / Edinburgh)

She hates my guts, that's what they say,
She's just a slut, but every day
She walks with a smile or even a frown
Through the high street of this little town,

A single mother, full of hate,
Who cannot bear to face her fate,
Her children hanging round her knees
Without so much of an 'if you please',

She'd like to add me to her list
Of older men, a little pissed,
Who gave her what they thought she wanted,
A little squirt that she took for granted.

It's very sad that it's come to this,
She doesn't even want a kiss,
She'd like to knife me in the heart
For calling her 'a f*cking tart'!

Her future days are full of doubt
And I can't blame her for opting out,
The heroin will ease her pain -
She'll never have to cry again.

There are those who think they've found the Truth
And turn their back on their awkward youth,
They cannot understand a whore
Was young and innocent before.

She used to play on the village green
But now she's 'evil' and 'obscene'
It's they who deserve eternal fire,
Sad eunuchs without God's desire.