20030127
Unless I am so much mistaken,
All the good rhymes have been taken.
But I will express,
Nonetheless
Why my poor brain now is achin'.
I sit at computer and write
Composing long into the night.
My intellect dumb,
My senses gone numb
As for sanity (meekly) I fight.
So excuse my most atrophied wit
For hard have I chomped at the bit.
And when I touch
The keyboard this much
I feel that my brains turn to shit.
Voila.
alex
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