In the cold dark land of near at hand,
there lived a shabby rubber band,
he'd lost his spring and ping you see,
and had no home but 'neth a tree,
so all day long he sit and cry
and watch the dirty birdies fly,
he wished that he could be so free,
and escape that dark and manky tree,
one day to flee his lonley funk,
he scaled its black and greasy trunk,
and from a branch he launched himself,
and smashed upon a rocky shelf,
as he lay with his last words,
he called a curse upon those birds,
and to this day they no longer soar,
which to a birds a dreadful bore,
so in this tale I hope you'll find,
a reason not to be unkind,
for life is cruel and hard sometimes,
but thats no excuse to sour wines.
Matt Malone "Sausage Roll"
- 11 years, 27 days ago