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Roses are black, violets are brown: the world is cruel with a big, big frown.
Roses are black, violets are brown: I feel like a mouse down here on the ground.
Roses are black, violets are brown: why does everybody push me around?
Roses are black, violets are brown: every day I say the day gets me down.
by Kennedy Erwin
January 21, 2005
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.
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