The Murderer's Last Supper

Oh how I wish I were a bee
It would be super, you'd agree.
Communicating facts through dance
A crowd was watching, in a trance
Mesmerised by the swirling movement
Threatening to engulf all humans.
"It rhymes" cried the poet, "don't say that it doesn't"
"And anyway, there's no time like the present."
And with that he was off in a big puff of smoke
A strange exit for such an ordinary bloke.
It just goes to show that you never can tell
You've got a corpse until it starts to smell
- If it is hidden underneath the stairs
Behind the piles of eggnog and chairs
And fish finger butties and caribou horns
With custard and mustard and black peppercorns
He ate it all down and declared it amazing
And so the tale ended with all guns a-blazing.