Froggacuda's Weblog

So tired that I hear a hum
Wherever I go
Like my stereo is on “loud”
With no input.
Doth the well run dry, milord?
Doth the grey matter weaken
And start its journey through your hair?
Your crown lies crooked
Until you seize the strength to right it.
So write it polished burning bright
And chase the Tygers from your nights.