I'd like to start with an I in this,
But we shall start with We,

We are not being philanthrophic,
There is no poetic gesture,
We are old and starting to grey
And we hope this ribble rabble be our new poetic pray.

Nobody reads our poetry my dear,
Nobody looks at the sun no more
We cannot write about politics
Or women scrubbing the floor

What should we write about?
We are a sad bunch, you and I,
We are not the romantics
Who will somehow make it about the daffodils and the sky

At this lunacy, it's a therapy session,
Not that we can afford being sane
Sane is for ***** willows,
We'd rather drink in disdain

This time it'll be about the penny
And about how we have none
It's not a man, it's not a job,
It's my selfish needs, it's about corn on a cob,
We are using negatives to affirm what's really runing our lives
Baby girl you had big dreams,
let's make it poetic about that lady who wrote about flies
I keep missing out and forgetting who wrote what about their pain,
All I know life's messed up, gambling's fun
But I am not new to the game.

/Here's to us, drama queen,
That's right, it's your new name/

C'mon, set your alarm, you have a shift at 7.