The night is black, the air is chill; Cold wind rustles through the hedgerows. The trees are bare and the footpaths icy O what a night for unnatural lovemaking. No stars shine down from Heaven's dark dome Thick clouds, instead, overhead oppressing. The moon casts no cheerful light and Sunset is long past, the dawn so far away. And, in the absence of a suitable partner, Man or woman, boy or girl, Or even a jam jar full of calves' liver, I must resort to lonely masturbation. But, I have to add as an afterthought, The odour is singularly unpleasant And incandescant technicolour vomiting Is by no means an unequivocal aphrodisiac.