"A pile of raw giblets is always a joy to behold,"
Said the man I had met in the pub at the end of my road.
I said I agreed, and suggested he come back to mine,
For a dinner of pigeon entrails and a bottle of wine.
Making friends is quite simple when all of your cupboards are filled
With the innards of all the small creatures you've recently killed.
I like to set traps in the garden for foxes and cats,
And then stock up the pantry with bits of the creatures I catch.
Now my circle of friends has expanded, and I feel great,
As I watch them devour the last badger's lung on their plate,
Yes, offal's the social adhesive that binds us together,
A sense of communal consumption that no-one can sever.