Stacks of paper litter 'bout
Screwed up, and torn out hair
Notebooks full of scrawlings
And cries of 'It's not fair!'
Once i was a freeman
And hunted rats for fun
Profit was a side efffect
Of getting that job done.
Now, I am a keeper
And must know the best cost
Of herbs and metal objects
My innocence now lost.
Seemed like such a good plan
To make a little gold
Now i have a price for all
Theres nothing thats not sold.
I am a shopkeeper
And my poets soul doth cry
I write out a stocktake
When a poem i do try.
Now in my books of rhyme
Lists of stockists take over
I can tell you price, profit, cost
And find I am quite sober.
So, I'm going to let free my hair,
Run naked in the rain
I'm going to throw my lists away
And see if sober I remain.
But not today, later yet
I've stock I have to fill
Suppliers I have to see
And stock to buy still.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Chronos, in the year 382 AF.