In the corner, three feet small
Hides a tiny man named Rick
Who feels no pain or shame at all
But cries all day, is always sick.

He throws up over everyone
Who comes his way, who ever talks
And says “hello, my little friend”
But away from them he slowly walks.

Rick was once a singer
In an up and coming band.
He sang to crowds of three or four
(There wasn’t much demand

For tuneless songs at that then time
Nor ever has there since)
And now when dreaming of the past
He often has to wince.

“Why did I bother”, says he now
“I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t play
I’m glad I gave it up, so glad
I’ve thrown my songs now all away.”

Next he joined a marching band:
He played kazoo, or so he tried
But all the people to whom he played
Loudly cried:

“Shut up, go to your corner
Never play, ever again
We hate you hate you hate your guts
You really are a pain

“Never come here ever again
Never talk, try not to breathe
Or else we’ll lock you in a cell
It’s time for you to leave.”

And so he left, he hid away
Inside his corner, there to stay.
There he is up to this day
And to us now says “go away”.


© 2000 Matt Everett