You think you have it bad. Perhaps you do.
You think that you know sad, and don’t we all?
You wish that you were glad, and made brand new.
I bet it made you mad to miss that call.
You think you’ve had it rough, but I forget,
Weren’t you the one whose tough skin wouldn’t bleed?
I’m sure you’ve had enough. Your core is set
To cut through all the fluff to reach the need.
You think you see the point, but really, do you?
Your nose goes out of joint to find the truth.
There’s nothing there, it’s only rhythm voodoo
From one who’s dim of sight and long of tooth.
By line thirteen the punch line should be clear.
The joke’s on me; no point; there’s nothing here.