The Blind Hound
I know that if I ever do lose it,
It will be your fault.
I have acid stirring in my belly.
I'm a blind hound,
Running from the hitting stick.
Then there's you, the prosaic flower.
Your unimaginable summits.
Award winning expectations.
Higher than clouds.
I aspire to win your admiration,
Greedy for your grace.
I'm talking about popcorn, of course.
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