Struggled with the basement’s water tap
couldn’t turn it off,
and precious water ran down
a piss stained sink
that reeked of yesterdays ale.

The old lady, who hides in a green stained copper cauldron,
came out and hit me with her folded black winged umbrella,
said that I had her false teeth.

The water was now rust/brown
and full of wriggling maggots.
‘Serves you right for dancing all night with diseased wenches.’
The old crone hoarsely groaned.

Her ancient lips enveloped me
till I got an reluctant erection,
but the water cleared
and maggots were nodding seahorses
and I was cured of the fear of loose living.