Warning for Children

Despicable and desperate men will say
You have no future here, when all they mean
Is that the atmosphere is neither clean
Nor healthfully debauched. Those feet of clay
You noticed when they gave the game away
Are very large, about size seventeen,
Which works for giants' feet, so grab a bean
And climb with me, while their sad lives decay.

Dishevelled women will grab at your sleeve,
Attempting to disarm your self-control
By offering you shining lumps of coal,
But you will note it isn't Christmas Eve,
And when you've got the bean, you can retrieve
The toy that looks into your very soul.