Its raining out,
second days no sleep,
Worries are those things,
I’m gonna have to keep.
Worrying about the kids,
Worry bout the parents,
worry bout all those,
insane asylums antics.
The workers PPEing cadavers,
Sisters brothers plus even seargents.
Pets and captives, owners and Owls.
You might be thinking ow ow ow.
Worried bout all those,
who’ve helped wreck my life.
Kicked me when I was down,
kept going until in strife.
I’d never know – what I said,
to set them off – right off instead.
Usually wiped from my brain,
as a beating will do – around your crown with the ol’ one two.
But I grew up and out of it,
strife only stuck me some little bit.
The s word often – would pop back up,
now I see it – its just repetition instead.
not shit or stuff
or sharks and snails.
Not swords or sails
or rusty nails.
Sink’s succinct,
a serious word.
somber sober,
seldom heard.
Sounds sweet?
A space to shill?
Scammers be selling!
Sinks be well…
We’re so so,
after this verse,
let me continue,
into the Hertz.
Seemingly special,
stunningly so.
Splendid stillness,
a true syco.
He didn’t choose it,
nor want it for others.
He played along,
hiding under the covers.
For the longest time,
He read all the stories,
For as long as he could,
he worshiped their hodlers.
He borrowed begged,
bought and browsed.
magazines comics
newspapers unbound.
Now he cries in despair,
its full of rain.
To clean up the air,
His to be full of refrain.