I’m wearing carbon filters,
But they don’t even start
To cure the lift’s toxicity,
Closer to the fart.
The short man starts to vomit,
His wife clutches her heart
Victims of proximity
Closer to the fart.
(this is brilliant writing, if I do say so myself, and I do. Normally I wouldn’t use the word “lift” in describing an elevator, but I needed a one syllable word for the line, so toxicity and proximity would work together. A great case of tooting my own horn, if you should unfortunately catch my drift).
I was trying to make it more radio friendly. We do have an audience to consider. We could do a tribute band thing: “Flush, Closer to the Fart”. We could fill the place, even if nobody was there.
Think of the possibilities: Subdivisions could become Colonoscopies. Temples of Syrinx would be Temples of Sphincter. Limelight would become Match Light.
Farts are always funny, even in a drum solo if you mic it properly.