I'm at a loss
I forgot to floss
And nothing comes to mind
My thoughts are simply hard to find
My My My aren't we precocious
Thinking that we even have thoughts
Supercala - whatever - docious
All that's in there are jingles and rhymes
Worthless data waiting to be expunged
I search for something useful
A face here, a name there
But never the right ones.
Bob is Fred
Bryan is Steve
You will be whomever I need
Getting old is a bitch.
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