Would it be easier to choose an alternative life path? Burger knitter, for example. Back end of a pantomime horse; that is, a non-speaking part. The trouble is the words keep coming. Drag a comb through my hair (not that I have any) and verbs tumble out. There is punctuation in my muesli. And I never even go near alphabetti spaghetti.
Now I'm holding a couple of pages of sweet lyrics, written with a particular guitar acrobat in mind and they are no longer required, no longer fit for purpose, no longer jumping and jiving off the paper. Cruelty, thy name is broken promises. All the loot I was planning to blow on worthless items: perhaps squander some of it on a timeshare in a pacemaker - the heart sort, not the old Gerry variety - or buy a macrame set, you know some rocking, edge-cutting thing. Have to consider options or find another client.
Suggestions, please, on a postcard or some currency of high monetary value. If my back wouldn't give out, I'd limbo to the front door and pick it up off the mat with my teeth.
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