Under the bedIn my headWhere is the monster?Should I be dead?It crawlsIt creepsIt sees meIt weepsThe monster feels pityThen it gets wittyThat's when I start to get giddyI laugh, I cryAll the whileI think I should dieThe monster's my friendThe fun never ends
A girl sitsIn a pitNo food or waterJust her mindShe need not thriveBut just surviveTo control the chaosIn her mindBut the more she triesThe harder it getsThe more the chaos spreads.A girl sitsIn a pitSome food and waterBut not her mindFor that was stolen
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.