in a land of grapes and juice,
there lived a man who couldn't stand
a little bit of muse.
One day he ran across a very
burly, long haired cat,
but he was late in seeing
and the burly cat went splat.
He cried a very long, long time,
until his wife said stop.
He looked around but couldn't
find the woman or the shop.
"The shop," you ask. "Where did it come?
It wasn't there before."
But that's because his wife had died
when running through the door.
The man went slowly on his way,
for he was late for work.
But his manager had fired him
for calling her a jerk.
His day got worse as it progressed,
until he went to bed.
But then his dreams picked up the slack;
he wished that he was dead.
But death comes in a blinding flash,
not in a boring dream.
But even bullies from his youth
weren't even quite that mean.
His life is such a tragic tale,
a dull one we might add.
And this ballad I have writ
is really very bad.
No comments:
Post a Comment