Way down deep,
he could hear a weep,
Who is it? He wondered,
Then he knew it was his psyche named thunder.
Was he a nutter?
filled with gutter?
His room was a clutter
though
Harking back at the days with therapist,
Yeah a definite lunatic
That's right he never had been with a therapist,
just a wistful desire.
Counselling he'd require,
lost mojo could be rescued.
Gown was his attire,
this is not a satire.
Here is what we can acquire,
that he had expired.
-MJ