Me Arthritic Finger
I detest writing on this poxy little phone
Hunched over a 2by3inch screen
Punching away at the imaginary
Glass keyboard
Boss eyed
Cross as hell... every time I lose connection
Hence half hour
Wasted ... oh well
Crucifying my wretched eyesight
And arthritic finger aching
Pleading
That I should go out and play
Unaware that this old bag is way to old
To enjoy herself
And throw caution
Right out of her cracked conservatory window
And slam dunked mind
Oh isn't life grand
Winding up ole misery guts
And driving her round the bend
Up the Swanee
Heading over the cartoon hills to
Bedlam by the sea
Tapping away on her poxy little
HTC
The scream
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