Stop with these requests
And all your questions,
I need some suggestions here
On how to live and breathe
And make these thoughts
For once seem clear.
It's not unheard of
To be unsure of things
All the time, but this is
One rhyme I have to get right
While the words are still ripe.
The problem, friend, is I'm
Too short to reach the branches,
So if you'll please take your stances,
I'll take your hand and that one's
Knee, to pluck what measly
Words I can from my dying tree.
My rhythm's all wrong now,
And this isn't some song I can
Just rewrite, revise, then call
It a night. These words are my
Soul, these words are my
Whole world, you see, and
To be off time means I'm
Out of my prime, and I
Still have to rhyme to make money.