When I'm sitting on the W.C.

There is a place, a secret place, where memories reside.

And often in my head they race, when it’s time I wish to bide.

It’s true, my love, it’s you I see, when I’m sitting on the W.C.

‘Tis dry at times and sometimes wet, as I text you on my phone,

There isn’t a thing that I regret, as I sit upon this throne.

My heart it beats with unbridled glee, when I’m sitting on the W.C.

There are those times up in the loo, I hideaway in sequester.

And let the intestinal battle ensue, like Achilles and Prince Hector.

Even then I think of pao-chorees, when I’m sitting on the W.C.

But the list of things I really yearn, and pang amidst the mist,

Will make a book that’d take a year to burn, so I’ll put it in a gist.

A little gaseous repartee, when I’m sitting on the W.C.