Something flapping madly in the skull
something tapping in the chest
and a furious pull
No vessel to delivery this
angry rant
no cleric to receive this
disappointed chant
But if I don't spill it out
pull the plug somehow I'll spout
it scalding on the wrong wrong
person
How I wish there were
a handy devilish cur
here to get my curse on
I get nothing but
22 grey lines on a page
and seven minutes while I
Sit and feel my body age
and can't even use up what I've got
nothing to do but pull out and leave it to rot
what
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