The Swine

The swine hangs on,
The swine hangs on to power,
The townsfolk mutter round the tower:

‘Roast him, toast him,
Thin his blood.
Try fire first,
Then try flood.

Char the timbers,
Crack the stone.
Make him marrow
In a splintered bone.

Then he’ll tumble,
Our hot meat.
Then we hack him.
Then we eat.’