3241. TREAT IT WELL

TREAT IT WELL

Well, Brother Mike, it's mainly because I've gone crazy;
they've taken the shovel away from me, all the notes,
the camera, the money, the film and the documents too.
It makes everyone much better feeling when they can
realize I've got nothing left at all. They've made
me a midget, yet I try to stand tall.
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Well, Sister Mary, they've put me in a cell, and now
I'm clanking metal chains everywhere I go. There's
really no magic left. Even the food is now pale gruel.
Slid in on trays, the courses I get are nothing at all
and even the few bugs who visit pass by. Like blind
men seeking water, whatever comes my way is dry
and crashing into walls. I have no way out and there
is nothing left. Please tell the clerk to cancel me.
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Well, Mom and Dad, now sorry to say it's over
and done, or soon to be anyway. I've arranged for
the medicine to come in a case, a dose way too big
for my innards. I'll take it and sleep, (ah, that long
forever), while what I leave to chance is left
behind so that you can have it. Treat it well.