Woeful with a Head Full:
If misery loves company, join with me tonight;
My head is feeling like an aimless ship at night.
A woeful tune to play upon your tiny violin;
Enchanted, left alone, to string a mandolin.
Frames per second detonate, though they pay a price.
Around a corner, eating a bowl of pork fried rice.
Soup would soothe the soul from effortless defeat,
A calamity came calling, I could tell the feet.
Fortunate sons wander on, feeling desperately alone;
Torn apart by insolence, not a military drone.
