Rowing took my muse away
Rowing took my muse away,
but gave me abs of steel.
Erging less, now what’s the deal?
Seems I have some to say.
Brains deprived of oxygen
can’t seem to find a verse
and then to make these matters worse,
seems sugar is my gin.
I’ve a got little fat again
upon the waist, between the ears.
Melodic verses I do hear;
instead of oars, I stroke the pen.
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