Grotesque is the view from my window plane
Utter incoherence, the sights are insane
What conspiracy plays upon my world
Upon my chair's arm my fingers curled

Grotesque is the face that I show to them
Reflecting my notion of their very being
Even though they were gorgeous gems
Their true face is horrid, is what I'm guaranteeing

Grotesque are the sluts with their struts of no meaning
Should light a match on them for a thorough cleaning
I couldn't bear witness to their witless foolery
It even shines through all their sparkling jewelry

Grotesque are the habits as they mate like rabbits
Only their would I agree with the feeble abbot
Even if they should stop and become statuesque
I could still see their rot of grotesque