If madness is just so so wrong,
why is it – the last to get the gong.
The person speaking – mocking fun,
his got the mic, his turn for song.

But no but no, he cant sing,
he just strings words together – poking ming.
Now she starts and joins her band,
how dare that comment come out of dat man.

So back and forth, from side to side,
They cover great ground, all things they divide.
So at the end of each of their speech,
everyone was off with – containing their dry reech.

Wouldn’t you know that words have this way,
Of being consumed so people don’t pay.
ligging licking dressing in gowns,
so people went off telling people praising prays hands.

The poise, the position, the postured stance,
Its the way, people avoid the dance.
I’m that not good, that’s not my thing.
But if I sang for supper, well-earn’t rocks’d fling.

Pray, prayer, make a handy A frame.
join those thumbs so you we learn to refrain.
Make a Heatch instead, thumbs joining mid stead.
Or keep making an I and think of me instead.

As in any way you paint it,
I’m reviewing and editing – plus hate it.
If I reread my post, its like tooo much to ghost,
And I just keep on shadowing my appointment.

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