audiogeek

It's lunchtime. I have a sandwich, made for me, made to eat. I'm hungry, but I feel so lazy. The sandwich sits downstairs, on the table. I am hoping it would fly to me. But sandwiches don't fly. They're scared of heights.

I've been wasting my time looking for stock art That maybe I could use to impress the world When I could be doing somethng worth my while Like reading a good book, or learning how to make omelette Yet time never runs out, but they say it is limited Like life that could fit in a clown car, because it is so short I sometimes don't understand the things that they say Because I am different, perhaps, or because they all think the same Except me.