The poets dwell
within their Hell
on a Sabbath day
witching hour

Their minds a wreck
Their hands  
of tech
They grind their teeth
in angst

Silence staid
The beds unmade
Searching for who
knows what

Snaps a pencil
It's indefensible
He can't go back
to bed

Quasimodo?
Was he noble ?
Played center for
Notre Dame

Came draft day
He was cast away
Which foot was it
you ask ?

Well the venom's drip
that sank a ship
Manned by mushroom
brained morons

Will be the first
to experience the worst
That trickles down
that piggies leg

"We all live in a yellow submarine"
It's just another "Day in the life"
After all happiness is a
warm warm gun