Doc Frost

Your friend cannot be saved, He told him his voice half raised. But I thought that you said that he could, Though not for the greater good? I did and I didn’t who cares I’ve forgotten, In any case he’ll soon be cold, dead and rotten. So speak to him now if you’ve something to say, But forgive me I’m having a frantic day. Indeed I must leave at the fastest of paces, Naturally ignoring these grieving faces. Push through these fools to get to my lunch, They truly are a sorry bunch, Mmm tuna but lacking sweet-corn it seems, That stupid woman is killing my dreams. What does this roll represent? A life full of anguish with nowhere to vent? A marriage without the required cement? A life choice without a portion of sense? I never wanted to be a doctor anyway…