Days of Old

Things have changed, look at my face.

Can’t brand me a bitch, put me in my place.

You laughed, and snickered, unclever retorts!

Hold tight to your lines, you need your cohorts.


You exacerbate, hush, and patter.

I’m not gorging a dish of conciliate matter.

Winds are changing, deck hands revolting.

It’s blowing, blowing, you’re blown!


Pity, poor pity, word has grown.

I laugh, and snicker, where’s your retort!?

You’re little and foolish, of no import.

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