And Now, a Random Poem

[the_gneech]

There's a hole in your soul
where the good thoughts never go
and the hole is made of bones
that are gnawed by a mole
who lives in the hole
at the bottom of your soul
And the mole has a phone
and he calls when you're alone
But the tone of his phone
is a lonely hollow groan
And when you answer the phone
when you're called by the mole
who lives in the hole
at the bottom of your soul
where the good thoughts never go
you just moan 'cause you know
that he's down there all alone
in a hole made of bones

-The Gneech

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