She said "dear, inspire me", when the truth is that I can't.
It's not that I don't want to, but all I do is rant.

Some ******* here, a comment there, as if I feel I must.
I'm throwing around cynicism like its ****** fairy dust.

The fact is dear, there's nothing inspiring about me.
I'm mediocre when at my best, no reason to ever doubt me.

Oh sure I can tell you all about the mysterious Devils Kettle.
Or talk at length if you will about the Spinxs favorite riddle.

I know the Raven to and fro, but no one wants to hear it.
I can tell you if you crock that roast, it'll be better if you sear it.

I cannot grow you flowers or always make you laugh.
I can't even say you'll be impressed at my version of a staff.

I'm sorry dear I truly am, for my game is truly lacking.
My talents few and far between, I'm not even good at stacking.

I can keep you up for nights on end with what I know of Russia.
Or spit for you a thousand tales just one shy of Scheherazade.

See what I mean? That last verse barely makes any sense.
Kind of like that inferno opera The Pirates of Penzance.

I will tell you if I may, it's not entirely my fault you see.
For once you take up nihilism you may cease to even be.

I will tell you my good friend, that you are indeed my friend.
Someone there to read this **** and maybe smile at the end.