it's not so much the day-to-day
it's the cover-switch that turns blue to gray
oh how i loathe you: pillow, duvet, and sheet
you make me ill, run my head into concrete.
it's true, i dread you all week long
stab me in the eyes, make me eat a thong
i'd rather lick the ground in the tenderloin
or have a troll kick me in the groin
then have to change you one more time
this ode sucks ass, but at least i rhyme.
(thank you, el_trapo, for the great robot drawing. loves it!)