Oh my name is Hannibal Lecter
There's gunge on my tongue, in my craw
My enemies tasted like nectar
The innocents scented my jaw
They threw me like filth in detention
And fed me on dead Belgian chocs
But by methods too chewy to mention
I guzzled their bars and their locks
Since then I've been visiting Burma
Kurdistan, and Kashmir, and Chad
In Timor, I've slurped without murmur
While the heart of Tibet's not half bad
So, is Kosovo safe, agent Starling?
(There are so many men to protect her)
Now I'm in a new sector, my darling
And my name is still Hannibal Lecter
