Mike Smith
11/26/09, 11:44 AM
This is kinda eh, but figured id post it anyways. I have had major writers block lately so yeah heres the poem:
You tell me that i'm far from perfect
But i guess that's what practice makes
If my practice is not seen as right
Then my respect is completely washed away
And my ways start to become habit
Like an egg that's starting to rot
My taste for the habits will make you shiver
So maybe i should snap out of it
And figure out my right from wrong
Before i become what everyone thought i was
Which is a lion without its mane
You tell me that i'm far from perfect
But i guess that's what practice makes
If my practice is not seen as right
Then my respect is completely washed away
And my ways start to become habit
Like an egg that's starting to rot
My taste for the habits will make you shiver
So maybe i should snap out of it
And figure out my right from wrong
Before i become what everyone thought i was
Which is a lion without its mane