funnybone800

When you shove all your items in the basket, No matter what you scream or shout, When they sit in the homemade casket, They’ll roll away and fall right out. The basket is broken, it’s filled with holes, You tape it shut, re-wicker its patches, But it will always be wrong, bless your soul, But again, you reach for those matches, So what if the muffins are covered in rot? So what if your cookies are overly rocked? This happens far more often then not, For the milks gone sour; we are not shocked. The wood is dreary, tonight feels like hell, My calender's wrong, I don’t think today's Tuesday, My basket propped against a botto