Aaaaandre

I woke up from a dream
Turner fucked me with whipped cream
He was my sweetie
I was his candycane
We had Christmas upon the lane
As we had eaten the things we’ve lost
Like his virginity up his chimney
My bloody babies turned into dust
With my Coldplay collection
Which I had lost
Among his hairy chest
And white raisin eyes
Which I had sunk in
As I had seen
Him between Stipe and Yorke
On a silver screen
He had done it himself
With scissors and a pen
As he used to rap
Because he had a cockstrap
And he had seen
Beauty upon the canteen
He had seen me
After the dream
He spat in my face
Killed my corpse
And wrote a song
Which he had seen
When he was young

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Dunno, I like the yellow pages and Peter Andre is just there, so that's where the title comes from.

Following the Alex Turner theme and this poem is one of my personal faves, was hilarious to write it.

Amy