Sometimes the waiting is the worst
You see the lighted end
But you’re stuck in the middle of it
You’re stuck singing about it!
Then, it all stops
And a large symbol of some sort
Drags its beleaguered ass out of a trollop’s nest
& transfix’s an audience of brats
The brats dictate everything
They impale critical thought on a pick-axe
They don’t want to know nuthin ‘bout nuthin.
They just stuck good!
So, me thinks me think too much
& act too little.