Untitled by Alice
(Tune of Auld Lang Syne)

Should all the 'catters scratch their heads,
And dare to bring to mind,
A clever thought for these poor threads,
Dead flea, bike seat, orange rind?

We've wandered many a weary night,
Through lists of lyrics fine,
But now discussions make us bored,
Been there, done that, ten times.

We've reached the evil fate of late,
With age, place, face, and kind,
Of writing more about ourselves
Than instruments and rhyme.

So here's a hand for Helen fair
Give us a song of thine,
Many thanks for inspiration here,
And now you've read all mine.

Alice Flynn

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