Here comes the priest
Not late at least
To bless our union till we’re both deceased.
I am the groom,
Love soon to bloom
Into a flower that will not consume.
In a Gothic church, an organ sings
Married with church bells’ dongs and dings.
There’s the best man,
Rings in his hand,
Not like the last time when I married Anne.
Two rings: twenty-four carat gold,
But that was just what we’re told.
Here comes the bride,
Mouth smiling wide,
Parents are crying and bursting with pride.
She lifts her white deceptive veil,
She is no virginal female.
Here comes the kiss,
Not one to miss,
Does she still feel for her ex-husband Chris?
Down comes the rice,
We’ll cut cake slice,
Which better taste good for that high-rise price.
Consummate vows on honeymoon
In Malibu, it ends too soon.