Poet's Day

Hot on your own lusty heels You trampled Elysian Fields Like a false witness conceals A Poet content with his skill You held the muse against her will Made mountains out of molehills Your lust did not stop there Every dream was a nightmare But, ah- this is how a Poet prepares Prone to exaggerate Prone to exaggerate It’s Poet’s Day Every laugh, every cry By exaggerating made you high You might as well have told a lie Like the theme of the Mare’s Nest “excitement over what does not exist” Is how the rest of the day was pissed Pissing Off Early Today Is English for P.O.E.T.’s Day And my, does an Englishman exaggerate! Prone to exaggerate Prone to exaggerate It’s Poet’s Day A feeling of euphoria Intoxicated by your gloria A resurrected Victorian Over wine you would compete With other Poets on Mission St Who could make words taste most sweet Prone to exaggerate Prone to exaggerate It’s Poet’s Day