forlorn, adrift am i acursed
blood boiling heart ready to burst
in the halll the fan doth squeak
downcast my mind, moood bleak
for every step i strode
wishing it to be fixed, truth told
yet the sun doth rise day after day
and discomfort never fadeth away
why must i deal with such obstinance
nails on chalkboard Consonance
i yearn for a deep reprieve
yet thee fan must cleave
my soul from thy body
its quality so shoddy
my life now cast adrift
by this devils little gift
digging my grave with a shovel
is thy fate living in a hovel