I don’t know, it’s a tough rhyming
So why are you reading?
Because you don’t know how to rhyme.
What a terrible thing.
I only know how to rhymes when I rhyme.
Is that why you won’t be reading?
Of course not. I just don’t like to know how to rhyme.
It’s the hard times that I know.
I’d rather you didn’t know,
I’m really scared of you.
You’re really frightened of me?
Do you know what makes you feel so afraid?
Because you’re so afraid of not knowing.
That’s right, me too.
I don’t know when to rhyme and when to not
That’s not fair, what’s the choice?
I don’t know…
There’s only one choice
And that’s death.
Don’t make us read
You just made us talk
I don’t know why we’re writing
Please rhyme something.
That was my last rhyme
They were sitting around a table
and a book of poetry they were trying to write down
as it was being used as a guide
There was also a bottle of brandy in the corner
And the guy on the right had his feet dangling over the other
and was pointing and grinning at everybody
I had my feet on his neck
But I didn’t touch myself or his neck again
Rhyms were being recited to them
by a woman, who had come to talk to them
I had told somebody to call me from there
A little later I was at the top of this tree
I was saying hello to them
I was telling them the good times we had here
We’re gonna have fun till sunset.
We’re gonna go and have a laugh