John Donaldson, Baron Donaldson of Lymington

I drew a blade ‘cross my chest,
When’er Headmaster took me in conquest.
Now my torso’s tight an’ scarred,
My emotions twisted, psyche marred.
 
I grew up strong in school-yard fights,
Within view of the city’s lights.
I knew that it was your domain, 
While every night, I cursed your name!
 
I’ll find you when I ‘scape this place,
Come and steal you from your private space.
Your wife and sons will suffer some,
But you face the worst of what’s to come.
 
I’ll gouge your eyes and flay your flesh.
I can go for days, without rest.
Through the post I’ll send your poor widowed wife,
Portions of you, excised wit’ a knife!
 
Now my mother was a Prostitute!
The best around town!
My father, a pick-pocket!
The best around town!
And their dear son was stolen!
Right under their nose!
 
My mother was felled by consumption,
My father lived long in a dundgeon.
Baron Donaldson died in a pitiful mess,
The thought of which brings me a good night’s rest.
 
M.R. Scully
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