Could be verse: poetry ripped from the headlines
Lines upon learning that a Swedish man is to receive sickness benefits for his addiction to heavy-metal music
Doctor, oh Doctor, I’m feeling un-metal, I feel that I might float away —
I’m feeling too pretty, I’m feeling too witty, I’m feeling too gigglingly gay,
Too frivolous, flimsy, and whacked out on whimsy — perhaps it’s already too late . . .
So earth me with Earth and dose me with Death. Medicate me with Mercyful Fate.
The sprites of the air are coiffuring my hair, and the fairies are feathering my bed.
Chuckling cherubs are promising that they will tickle me till I am dead.
But I seek the dark core; through the silver door to the bowels of the world I aspire,
Where my heavyweight Master, in caverns of Iron, is listening to High on Fire.