Curses thwart this cursor.
Pencils, pens and pills.
You make this still worse, sir,
Despite your good-will ills.

Can you smuggle one more minute?
Can you still steal time?
Can you take my heart and win it?
Can you justify these crimes?

Cupcakes frosted, come forth violent.
Upsetting all my livid days.
Yet louder still, you sit there, silent.
Bringing forth my irate ways.