I like cycling, just to be clear.
It’s a deep, dark night, silent and calm.
All is asleep, every house, child, mom.
The moon is bright and full and fat.
The moonlight made for a sneaky-sneaky cat.
You can hear the wind, that’s all.
Not even rain has the gall to start to fall.
You can’t hear the clink of the chain
It’s as quiet as the growing of grain.
The squeaking of tires is silent as death,
Just as quiet as a dormouse’s breath.
You can’t hear the ring of the bell,
Neither can Timmy who’s trapped in a well.
When they come, they come without a sound.
In the bright morning someone dead is found.
You can try to hide if you wish,
But outrun? No! You’re as good as a fish.
Who are they? You might ask.
Bicycle ninjas, tires and a mask.
Bicycle ninjas will come for you.
Bicycle ninjas will run you through.
Bicycle ninjas, if you transgress
On a cycling ninja and soil their dress.
They don’t care for S-U-V’s.
If you own one, you have no peace.
If you want to avoid their wrath,
Just stick to the cyclist’s moral path:
Nothing with an engine, no car, no bus.
Just two tires and physical fuss.
It’s not all bad, it’s good for your bod’.
And cheap too, and the roads are broad.
There’s one thing that I just don’t like:
Them putting people’s heads on a pike.
If they just quit doing this thing.
“B-ninjas are great!”I would sing.