My dark cries the like of nimbus bring rain
If dickhead hears not all my cries the rain
Will hit him hard as hail and he will feel
These long years he has spooled mine on a reel
With jollity and merry-going-round
To bury facts for the grave all are bound
As my pens weep not only for his plight
But laugh at caitiffs putting up big fights
For the glorification of such goats
Who with their kind on rough sea rock the boats
Then jump up and down with flags of success
With all else going adrift in recess.
