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Click hereA well-done meat patty--so much the head.
A sand-tone, concrete wall--so much the dread.
The main course wishes it were the dessert.
It's the same old fare that drives it berserk.
Day in and day out, all night and all day
The wall stands. It cannot be prayed away.
The alarm clock is rude. The day is crude.
It's the brood dude, and it's a day to brood.
When will the cheer be wafting in the air?
When will the flowing breeze caress the hair?
When does the celebratory, staged cake
Arrive to the delight of those who wait?