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Can I play you a weepy tune on a violin,
Even though it’ll make your head spin?
Nobody loves me because I’m sick
Just because I got bitten by a tick
I screwed up and took too many herbs
Now I can only talk in blurbs
Quick, help me find that Big Mack truck
That’s left me lying flat in the muck
Before you make fun of my silly rhyme
Please remember that I have Lyme
I wish I could write this sob story in my log
But that’s hard to do with so much brain fog
My joints crackle and creak like an old pot
This die-off session is much worse than I thought
I know I left my keys in the door
And my bag of groceries at the store
Worse, I can’t even remember your name
But no, I’m not playing any kind of game…
I used to think I was quite smart
But with this herx all I do is sit around and fart
And write silly poems about spirochete sludge
As I find myself unable to budge
Do you feel sorry for me?
Maybe one day I’ll be free
And I’m sure that tomorrow I’ll be able to smile
Once again for at least a little while…