WOOBLE 3.(At home)
Though he gets home late,
How late?
It will compensate,
They here unexpected knock.
Transformation must be the moment.
For they know,
Trouble and torment,
It’s their time for blow’.
As usual,
Dirty and filthy.
Noisy and giggly,
Deny and disavows.
Emoluments, finished.
Apple to oranges.
Humanity varnished,
Chances to changes.
And because of food,
He will leave her on the ground.
With maelstrom,
To the room.
A stop at the corridor,
Order for clean ones.
Odor than of coriander,
Or to bed with ones.
Another row of endless fights.
His eyes like mighty spotlights.
Can be seen in the dark night,
Start of his blight.
Just with a fall,
On the bed,
With sizzling temper,
His final call…
“Be it mattress straight,
Be its pillow round.
Let no sun-light,
Interrupt this ground.”
The immortal tone;(fading out)
🎶Oh! Oh! Oh!
Life is trippy…
Dri…n…k till am high…
With my hands I can fly…🎶
©️SIMSIM.
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