I could eat the cookie
But I already feel queasy
But you didn't have to cut me off
The song sings
And I type whatever comes into
The cauldron called my brain
Hey, that wasn't supposed to be poetic
But yet I feel as though I can't stop
Being poetic it comes like the
Air I breathe
It comes from the higher power
And I being the speck of dust
Am happy to oblige
So this is lunch
Thursday
And I sit and type
Whatever comes to my mind