With a Song
I’ve spilled words everywhere
I’ll mop them up
With another song.
They’re all over the place,
Scattering on stage and page,
And I’ll admit that I’ve gone wrong.
I see derision in your double chins,
And I won’t listen.
I can see the jerked-back neck,
The way you’ve taken double.
I can feel sweat glisten,
But I soldier on,
Mopping words up with a song.
I will paint you a life,
One anecdote at a time.
A picture of stories told in rhyme.
I will spill my words upon you,
And I will get this wrong,
But I will write for you regardless,
And mop it all up with a song.
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