The Salt of the Earth/ Ethan Cole

Medusa, Medusa; your blood is all red;  

It flows like a geyser- without your head. 

It has soaked through the sheets, now their smell is of iron; 

The pools ‘neath the mattress, ’ll coagulate by morn. 

 

Medusa, Medusa- your hair is so plain; 

Coiled round in an ‘up’-bun; an eye-covering bang. 

Medusa, Medusa you’ve started to spoil 

It’s our fault, it’s our fault, we’ve run out of foil.  

 

You're prejudiced, your holiness, by what you’ve been fed; 

Blessed are the ignorant, the Preacher said.  

My roommate Medusa’s a bit out of sorts; 

A stiff slug of gin will help her gather her thoughts. 

 

It’s for the worst- of course- cause her thoughts have gone bad, 

Several lives worth of torture've driven her mad. 

Medusa, Medusa it’s happened, at last! 

Medusa, Medusa, your life has gone past.