Well...what can I say. Was in a bit of a silly mood.
I think it's impressive how I managed to create new words to fit my rhymes...
Pulling a Shakespeare there.
Yeah...just be glad you don't know me for real.
They say that artists tend to be
a little bit screw-loosey.
I've seen it's true, so let me add
a poet's faults are juicy.
Some drink a lot and do bad drugs,
have sex with things they shouldn't.
They claim that they must nap all day;
if asked to work, they couldn't.
Some cry a lot and write of tears
with head held in the oven,
unless they're in an upswing week,
when they write odes to lovin'.
Some talk to bats that no one sees,
take phrases from their babble,
and bats it seems write poetry
like, "Forthwith! Plob! Crabble!"
How sad that poets often fall
to madness and to folly.
How odd that I'm the only one
whose tracks still hold the trolley.