Stewpid Made-Up Songs thread

[Marcus Bales]

Okay, so it's a little late.

At Seventeen

Every single male cicada
Woos the female ear --
But even big boys haven't made a
Noise enough that "See you later!"
Isn't what they hear
As yet another female bade her
Love-sick-voiced cicada satyr
Dry the starting tear.

Off he skulks to sulk among a
Crowd of other males,
Complaining how he thought he'd sung a
Song to make her think he'd hung a
Moon or two -- but frails
Expect these days a guy has strung a
String of stars and smoothly swung a
White tie with his tails.

Tens of thousands drone a drone a
Lone guy can't get near --
A deep, intense, sustaining moan, a
Strong erotic undertone a
Girl can't help but hear;
And when at last the girls have flown a
Round then there's a wobbly groan a
Lust that's all too clear.

Who will be the lucky winner
She'll take in her arms?
Though every guy's an eager grinner,
Every guy's a green beginner,
New to love's alarms;
Every guy's a willing sinner
Blind to taller, blonder, thinner
Female bugs' charms.

Choice is made: the tree of guys is
Womanless once more.
Scorned, the multitude reprises
Love's old song whose chorus rises,
Louder than before;
Another girl! More wild surmises
There among them while she sizes
Up how they implore.

And so it goes, the women choosing,
Out of many nopes,
A yep that seems at least amusing;
Leaving those refused enthusing
Over foolish hopes --
Where cruising, boozing, using, bruising
Leads to losing love's confusing
Game to nicer dopes.

And so we'll leave that male tree humming
Piled with pulsing peers
Who sit there thumbing on the plumbing
Hoping their refrain's becoming
Music of the spheres
So they needn't keep on thrumming --
Or wait another spirit-numbing
Seventeen more years.