Sweet Sixteen

The clock ticked ahead shyly for eternity

And I feel a new prickle under my arms.

Daddy, I need a mic for my sweet sixteen!

I wanna sing to all my friends about Tony.

Tony is pink and hairy and jumps on troubles

Like they were three mice stealing from me

As if I were a Nazi dairy running very dry,

Forever after Peter and Michael, before him.

Oh, Daddy, Tony is sick and I need a mic

To tell my friends if he'll make it through.

I need them to sing back that it'll be okay,

That he'll pull through like Peter and Michael.

All my friends sing into mics and I can't.

Why don't I have a mic when I have Tony?

You promised me a mic this warm winter

To play with Peter and Michael, and Tony.

Hurry up, Daddy, Tony is almost blue now

All the pink has rubbed onto the three mice

Who are dancing like the poor in December,

Drinking my milk, eating my Camembert.

Oh Daddy, what have you done?

Tony has left - grown wings and flown away

Unlike Peter and Michael, before him

Who continue to run like headless mice.

No I don't want Peter and Michael

They are dirty now, like the Camembert.

I want a mic, damnit; gimme a mic

I wanna sing my troubles to the world.

Screw you, Daddy, I don't want your mic.

I can shout and scream to my good people.

I am sure they can hear me without a mic.

Lemme sing why you won't give me a mic.