You deny me of health
You deny me of wealth
You deny me of friendship and love and games
You deny me of faith, you deny me of hope
You deny me of living and you drive me insane
That’s why I left you
That’s why I am gone
That’s why you won’t see me from hereon
That’s why I rant and that’s why I rave
You denied me of life, the things that I craved
So now I have gone, I will piece things together
I will find my hope, faith, love and more
I will carry on, night and day
And I don’t care if your heart is so sore
For I am through with living for you and I live for you no more!
There has been a great mystery stirring in my house in the last few days. Several toothpicks have been discovered on the floor by my desk in the living room and on the bookshelves in my bedroom and over the floor. The number of available toothpicks has been decimated each time I observe their little jars; one jar resides in the living room at my desk, the other in the bedroom on the lower middle bookshelf and the third in the bathroom up high above the medicine cabinet. The bathroom toothpicks are unaffected in this mystery.
I have come to the conclusion since my husband and child’s denial on the matter, that the culprit must be tiny human beings approximately an inch tall that currently have a wartime emergency and are using the toothpicks to become phalanx mercenaries in some sort of odd tribal warfare.
That is a sensible conclusion, given the evidence.