GUINEVERE

Sir Fuckalot who fucks a lot,
he sailed from France in a long boat,
and came to Cornwall at first,
to meet with Arthur who was cursed,
to be betrayed by this friend,
and meet his death in the long end.
He fucked king Arthur's lovely wife,
and there began medieval strife.

In the bleak fields of Avalon,
Guinevere now walks alone,
she is a sad and tragic ghost,
with Memory her only host,
"with Mnemosyne", Greeks would say,
I don’t speak Greek, but that's ok,
Guinevere can speak that stuff,
so, all I say is, fair enough.

She still remembers Fuckalot,
she used to fuck with him a lot,
after a battle or a joust,
selling her soul like doctor Faust,
her body fucked, her soul sold,
she is a ghost who feels night's cold,
and as she wonders up shit creek,
her memory recites in Greek:

Am I the Guinevere of old,
or there's another tale untold,
which travels back before my birth,
and takes me to a place on Earth,
where I am ravished by god Zeus,
his son and daughter to produce?
Two by my husband, two by god,
I used to fuck like a street broad.

My daughter Helen flew to Troy,
that glorious city to destroy,
as Homer sings of Heroes slain,
sex with a god implies some pain,
They call me Leda, that is cool,
I go to bed with every fool,
but still remember Fuckalot,
and the gone knights of Camelot.

*****

Arthur Pendragon in his grave,
was not than Fuckalot less brave,
but as bed mates we did not fit,
he had a different kind of wit,
Sir Fuckalot, he made me click!
that's how I thought to try his dick,
we were so perfect in his bed,
but out of it, what a dickhead!

I still remember Sir Gawain,
watching his brothers lying slain
by Fuckalot, to save my arse,
exposed by them in this whole farce.
Oh, I remember as I rove,
my youthful days in the Ash Grove,
mixing with druids, not with knights,
and having pleasant long hot nights.

If pleasure is my raison d' etre…
Je suis une maitress sans mon maître,
Sir Fuckalot was that for me…
I change my skin and come to thee,
my future beau, before I'm lolled,
Anna Karenina I'm called,
throwing myself under a train,
and coming back to Wales again.

By now you guess that my true spree,
is sheer and hot adultery,
that's who I am, that's who I was,
that's who for ever I will be,
I visit "sketches by old Boz"
and I get fucked upon a tree,
but I still crave for Fuckalot
and the gone knights of Camelot.