Afraid I’ll become some sick and slack-jawed slouch,
I beat back the Fall with a broom
but the dust of me still lingers ‘neath the couch;
I toil and toil on the doorsteps of doom.
Afraid I’ll become some sick and slack-jawed slouch,
I beat back the Fall with a broom
but the dust of me still lingers ‘neath the couch;
I toil and toil on the doorsteps of doom.