Clare thinks there's nothing at all left to say.
She's holding some bread in a threatening way.
I hope she remembers that she has a choice,
And that she will listen to this good advice:

Tears will soon flow and emotions will rise.
Friends will avoid looking you in the eyes.
Mice will refuse to eat cheese from your traps.
Your storm-force seduction won't turn on the chaps.

Dark soundtrack music will sum up your life.
At family dinners you won't get a knife.
You might get a small plastic spoon and a fork,
A weapon that's been rendered safe with a cork.

People will say that the flies often die
When they're close to you, and small children cry.
When you enter pubs, others will exit
As quick as a runaway prisoner legs it,

Tracked down by dogs who like leg bones to chew,
Who'd hide in the woods if they had to chase you.
Bands will play quicker to finish their set,
Even the ones who are darker than death.

Ladies whose job is to grow a thick beard
And their circus friends will all think that you're weird.
You'll be shunned by friends and by animals too
And even the Z-list celebrities who

Will do anything on reality shows,
Where they allow creatures to crawl up their nose.
Hobos will treat you as if you're unholy.
So put the bread down and just walk away slowly.