I knew I was in "purgatory"
I couldn't make up  all the grade/s
Didn't really matter much
My pocketknife had a  broken blade

The "I's" are ever on you
No one hears or cares to understand
The questions put before them
Are lost to time by sand

So fling the words before me
My pearls before the swine
The path placed as pure adjectively
While you sit and mull your time

There was my life before me
In the parking lot of life
A beat up old "63" Rambler
With the "Club" attached  to the steering wheel of strife