Into the deep belly of the Beast I ride
I furtively gird myself on the inside
Foreknowledge that at least I tried
As silently ever onward I glide
Between what seems one world and the next
I struggle and fight, but am only vexed
Indiscriminately from me they wrest
Until I emptily concede defeat in my chest
Why must everything be dreary
Performing mundane tasks makes weary
The strongest soul’s desire to yearn
Or even care about the will to learn
And then you sit, and talk to a fern
And next thing ya know, it’s all like
“Yo, izzit Friday yet? Uh. This sucks.”
Don’t be a sheeple.
