029 -- dictated;
[Spike's been feeling kind of down, lately. Down enough that he's drinking in the Death Match as opposed to in his usual Caritas haunt. He doesn't really want to run into people he knows.
After a while, he opens his journal and starts talking into it, looking at his drink as opposed to the book itself.]
I've been a full year here now, so it seems.
From candy corn to leaves, how time does fly.
And still I'm stuck, escape a distant dream.
It's harder now to think of things to try.
Is it all bad? No, friends I've got in spades,
And all the drinks and smokes I could desire,
And bloody ghosts to serve us all as maids.
It's not enough. Freedom's what I require.
My home is hell more often than it's not.
But it's still home, so I can take its worst.
This bloody castle puts us through such rot.
Much longer and I know I'll bloody burst...
[At this, Spike actually looks down and sees his words have been put down in... rhyming verse.]
Oh, bugger all, what is this brand new hell?
A sodding poem, and not one written well!
[Yeah, he's just gonna... slam the journal shut now.]
After a while, he opens his journal and starts talking into it, looking at his drink as opposed to the book itself.]
I've been a full year here now, so it seems.
From candy corn to leaves, how time does fly.
And still I'm stuck, escape a distant dream.
It's harder now to think of things to try.
Is it all bad? No, friends I've got in spades,
And all the drinks and smokes I could desire,
And bloody ghosts to serve us all as maids.
It's not enough. Freedom's what I require.
My home is hell more often than it's not.
But it's still home, so I can take its worst.
This bloody castle puts us through such rot.
Much longer and I know I'll bloody burst...
[At this, Spike actually looks down and sees his words have been put down in... rhyming verse.]
Oh, bugger all, what is this brand new hell?
A sodding poem, and not one written well!
[Yeah, he's just gonna... slam the journal shut now.]