ROSE AT MY FEET,RUBBING PEBBLES IN THIS FIT
Rose at my feet,rubbing pebbles in this fit, I reconvene and make a tease, Making fun out of deceit, If destiny was a mistress, Then I'd be making calls making inquest, Inquest about my luck and my contests. It started in my lab, Making mixtures out of tabs, A jolly ink-tank with much talent at heart, But this cruel life wouldn't have it, I aimed perfect but missed the bullhead, Too much at stake ,too much at playing darts. Why the sudden mishap? Why do roses have to wilt? I make faces before the wrap, Am angry at the world! For making me lovesick,such a fuss, The agonies of life,too much for cards.