I wander without fright, Growing bit bit like stalagmite. But from the sane world people come, Beating their mouthful drum. And me they try to stow, With their silly innuendo. I don't move their way an inch, Coz itz not a dream; that I'll wake by a pinch. They finally move n let me go, Wander without a tormented brow. Lust carries me, sometimes it is pain. At times it is a purpose, at others - vain. We are tired, say legs to brain, Shut Up you two - I know you will sustain. And I keep growing bit bit, Like a stalagmite, Unaware of the chaos, On rendezvous with stalactite.
Trotting on, a regal symphony. Mighty yawn, teeth glowering ominously. That aberrated bark, are my Pug Marks!