Image for the poem Get Off My Lawn

Get Off My Lawn

Feeling really bloated
squeezed inside this box,      
so, "How did The Game of Thorns end?"  
It's a little cold this time of year,  
the wife forgot my socks,  
but I'm wearing my best suit.    
Also a little quiet,    
but things pick up at midnight,        
when worms go on the prowl.    
I lost my password on Twitter,  
worked hard all my life,  
the safety razor gave me Tetanus  
and all I got for it was stones,  
all over the freaking place.    
Rows and rows of stones.
So, get off my lawn    
and stay out of my space,  
morticians rub me the wrong way.  
Can you spare some formaldehyde?    
Life's a bitch, death's a ditch.  
Now I'm stuck in this acre,  
without aftershave.    
What's the shelf life for bones?  
Now giving up the ghost,  
for a haunted attraction.    
Where are the garden gnomes?
At least plant a tree.
Written by adagio
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