MorpheusSandman
10-19-2008, 11:50 PM
It’s all great in my head until it’s said,
Or written down and read.
And then it’s bad, so pitiful and sad,
Enough to make me mad,
When brilliant thoughts of mine, expressed in lines,
Did turn to dirt from wine.
But nothing can I do, you’ll find that true,
When words turn all to poo.
These simple silly rhymes do tell my times,
With bovine limes and thyme.
I overdid it there, so just beware,
That onward do I dare.
Since this I do admit, maybe I’ll get
Some credit (just a bit).
But I think likely not, and this my lot
For all times what I’ve got.
Oh well, what can I say? Just hope I may
Get laid (for that, I’ll pray!)
It could indeed be worse, I see that hearse,
And surely I’m not cursed.
Still all this can I tell, if not so well,
And truly that is swell.
Till death I’ll celebrate and will not hate
All that I can’t relate.
Or written down and read.
And then it’s bad, so pitiful and sad,
Enough to make me mad,
When brilliant thoughts of mine, expressed in lines,
Did turn to dirt from wine.
But nothing can I do, you’ll find that true,
When words turn all to poo.
These simple silly rhymes do tell my times,
With bovine limes and thyme.
I overdid it there, so just beware,
That onward do I dare.
Since this I do admit, maybe I’ll get
Some credit (just a bit).
But I think likely not, and this my lot
For all times what I’ve got.
Oh well, what can I say? Just hope I may
Get laid (for that, I’ll pray!)
It could indeed be worse, I see that hearse,
And surely I’m not cursed.
Still all this can I tell, if not so well,
And truly that is swell.
Till death I’ll celebrate and will not hate
All that I can’t relate.