Death Of A Something

It was Something not very nice
Hot as lava and as cold as black ice
In the middle of Times Square it silently cried
Not for too long, cuz then something died

It had clothes made of paper (I think it was clothes)
The latest rage on the ramp, they say
It was thin as a model too. (I weighed it!)
And now I wonder who the hell are 'they'?

It had a dead body, alive like something stygian
If I knew what that word meant this poem won't be fun
I put the corpse in bad and the bag started to run
"Eureka!" I cried as I fumbled with my gun

So I chased it down and shot it six times
Even then I wasn't sure it was dead
I chopped with my sword its pieces too fine
Then I took my hatchet and hacked off its head

This was the Death of something
A strange encounter I had
If you see something better run
This time it will be angry and that, is bad.