Bang, Bang, Baby. Hear me squirm
Then follow the ring
The way can’t clear
Sweet lovely things cling tight
Detriment to a career, a desperation most clear
Holds the hand that gives forward ways
They miserly be, a grating grind that halts
In no man’s land.
Desperate action dictate
A fleeting faulting purge.
No screams, no cries, claw the grind
Chip away, bang, bang, comes but once a day.