My Angry Chair

I've sat and waited, breath quite bated No objection have I stated I'm a tool of human leisure- Of complaint I've not the pleasure- Now I must speak, confess my stress So you have chance to make amends Day after day and night after night I suffer subjection to this plight! I'm sick of your posterior! Your bottom and your derriere! If I had feet I'd run away But, curse and damn it!, I must stay Oh, have your twisted morbid fun If I had feet, I swear I'd run. With you upon me, clinging tight Suffice to say, "It serves you right!" Get off me you unsightly brute! How drastically you dull my mood... My hope is that a speaking chair Will set you right, and me, you'll spare If not, then here's a subtle clue Ow-ner of mine, the hell with you!