Well, I'm still not tired, and I've made a lot of dumb comments...
BAD POETRY TIME
I walk along a crowded summer street
And rue the the often crowding passers-by
Then journey in the fall hoping to meet
That lonely stranger who might catch my eye
I gather me in blankets in disease,
And curse the lifestyle that I choose to live
But in my health I take those liberties
That memory would not so freely give
I'll work my bones into a creaking mess
So that my payday gives a handsome pay
And of my soreness I too oft' confess
Until by fate I'm pennyless one day
A temperate zone my life has given me
For better or for worse, dichotomy
How easily I find the davenport!
And resurrect myself at half-past one
To realize that if could do but sort
By midnight I'd be having joyous fun
And with what ease I talk to women fair
And therefore hold myself in much esteem
When if I took a moment more to care
I wouldn't then so often have to dream
The rose the thorn, the hike the climb, oh no!
I cannot see without unseeing ill
Again in passtime searching I will go
And in some fresh spring morning, drink my fill
Fate or choice? I wonder what I do
Take from my plight, and ponder who are you?
I walk along a crowded summer street
And rue the the often crowding passers-by
Then journey in the fall hoping to meet
That lonely stranger who might catch my eye
I gather me in blankets in disease,
And curse the lifestyle that I choose to live
But in my health I take those liberties
That memory would not so freely give
I'll work my bones into a creaking mess
So that my payday gives a handsome pay
And of my soreness I too oft' confess
Until by fate I'm pennyless one day
A temperate zone my life has given me
For better or for worse, dichotomy
How easily I find the davenport!
And resurrect myself at half-past one
To realize that if could do but sort
By midnight I'd be having joyous fun
And with what ease I talk to women fair
And therefore hold myself in much esteem
When if I took a moment more to care
I wouldn't then so often have to dream
The rose the thorn, the hike the climb, oh no!
I cannot see without unseeing ill
Again in passtime searching I will go
And in some fresh spring morning, drink my fill
Fate or choice? I wonder what I do
Take from my plight, and ponder who are you?