A blank, I'm a cipher, I'm noneThere's nays and there's no's, I'm just -unFor me it's too lateto participateThe baggage I bear weighs a ton
You're empty, is that what you're saying?The game you are tired of playing?There's nothing insidethat you've left to hideThe horse you rode in on is naying
Yep, me and my horse are both doomedSwept out like the trash with a broomI just cannot take itI can't even fake itThrough glitter, I see only gloom
Your vision by void has been blurredIt seems you've been shaken, not stirredWhen being rubbed outat fate you must shoutInstead you have coyly demurred
Demur, you say? I say Demurder!You, sir, are a serial worder!Your mind is one track!Get off of my back!Please cease and continue no furder!
I think that you'll have the last wordYour points(!)at such volume I've heardWith writing, so loudto you I have bowedToo much hearing loss I've incurred
"Harrumph!!!" isn't exactly a word, is it?
The man said, as off he galumphed,his final word which was "Harrumph"I spoke as I spikeIf it you don't likethan it you can simply larrumph
Not sure that I get what you'resayingPerhaps it's because you are brayingThese guttural soundswon't help to expoundthough might be a form of word playing
Garrumble lick spittle boing pfowSarruptial gwoing gingy and howBot diddley bop poopCum hitherly droopSanguinely my shoeshine does bow
With wordings of such an odd choiceI hear an original voiceYou gasp, spit and sputterand mindlessly mutterA more incoherent James Joyce
I think that I shall never seea...wait, I'm wrong, pardon meThat's not James Joyce...er..That is Joyce KilmerSome guy who wrote about a tree
And then there is Joyce Carol Oateswhose writing oft goes for the throatsBy hook or by crookwrote 50 odd booksenough to fill fictional boats
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