'arold Pinter in the winter
doing a solstice dance
Bruised and babbling, fingers dabbling
was a fine romance
'arold Pinter wot a binter
didn't stand a chance
despite his size, a Nobel Prize
and some award in France
'arold Pinter off to hinter
couldn't catch 'is breath
time went by and my oh my
ended at 'is death
'arold Pinter now it's winter
nothin' left but lime
just the bones, the useless groans
such a waste of time
such a waste
oh such a waste
oh such a waste of time
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