Reek is squirming again
I can’t get him off my back
He clobbers himself in the head with
Sticks made out of bacon

I swear my life would be normal
If the world would just let me
I talk to myself all day
And **** your autumn moon,

It’s a little distant from me now
As I settle into this luxury deathsack it’s weird,
I find I’m still ****

What a load of crap