Gloom rocks back and forth in that old rickety chair,
Weaving a noose in her lap when Perfection draws near
Singing a song of cheer.


"Hello, Gloom!" he greets.
"Hello, Perfection." Gloom greets.
"What may I do for you today?"
"No, Gloom." Says Perfection,
"What may I do for you today?"


Gloom sighs. "Well,
Your fingers will do well to weave this noose for me,
Won't they?"


"Aye! They will!
They will knot a noose so fine and well
It will be the finest noose ever woven!"


"Well, yes,
I suppose so.
Here, the noose.
Have a seat,
While I go to snooze."


And upon getting the noose,
Perfection weaved...
And weaved...
And weaved...


"Curse it! No good!"
I must unravel this!"
And unravel this, he did.
And his fingers went to work a while.

"Ahhh...look! A piece of fiber!
If not perfect, I will be seen a fibber!
I'll weave this again!"


"And again!"


"And again!"


"Oh, no!
Not quite yet.
Argh! my brow has broken a sweat!"
Time and time I have spent!
Why will this noose not be perfect?"


"Oh, Gloom...
Her work imperfect be
And now mine alike.
Oh no...
I cry. I cry.
I'll tie this noose and die!"

It follows me where ever I go,
That empty noose,
It calls to me,
Begging to bite my slender neck,
To snap it,
To distort it,
To embrace it lovingly,

It’s always hanging over my head, waiting for me to stumble,
When I make mistakes it snickers,
My throat grows stiff,
I can’t speak up,
Cause when I do, that empty noose constricts with joy hoping to finally fill itself with me,
So I’m ridiculed for not making my presence known,
I’m told that if I can’t be a team player I’ll have to find another job,

They can’t see that empty noose that never leaves my side,
So they’re convinced I don’t corporate out of spite,
They don’t see the dangerous dance I do to stay alive,
They just see me leaving early without explanation,
So they cast me aside,

That empty noose waits patiently,
So quietly, for a moment I forget it’s even there,
A fatal mistake, one slip and it’s wrapped it’s arms around me,
Squeezing shut the screams in my windpipe,
My thrashing legs do not call attention to strangers,
To them it looks like suicide,
All they see is a lonely soul who let go,
Not someone who fought everyday of their life to escape that empty noose.