Anything But Keane

[In which heiress with the leastess Paris Hilton is punished severely for her unspeakable crimes against humanity]

And so Paris Hilton was sent to the chair
Bemoaning the fact she had nothing to wear.
The guards had shaved off all her lovely blonde hair
But worse was the cruel fate awaiting her there.

Instead of employing electrical means
To fry this annoying society queen,
They'd torture her with introspective paeans
The music began and she started to scream:

"Please, no, anything but Keane!
I'd rather be stuck in a threshing machine!
I want to be back in my big limousine.
Giving some sleazy guy peaches and cream.

Their songs are so dismal and dreary and drab;
The sweaty lead singer resembles a crab.
They're the audio equivalent of picking a scab;
Can't you just give me a quick lethal jab?"

The CD ran through a selection of tunes
As three hooded figures walked into the room.
And slowly removed their mysterious costumes,
Causing poor Paris to shriek like a loon:

"Please, no, anyone but Keane!
This is like some sort of horrible dream!
I realise now I've been selfish and mean
But promise in future I'll be less obscene!"

Such passionate remorse could not be ignored
By the fair-minded folk on the prison board.
So Paris was spared Keane's final encore
And chopped into bits with a samurai sword.