Each word a pointless futile waste of time
Each syllable a heavy leadened yoke
Each thought a gutter filled with oozing slime.
We fish the river every rotten day
With nothing but some weeds for all our work
And stumble back on feet of stinking clay
Pointless trying, all has gone berserk.
So cry and shed a tear for all is lost
Posterity is nothing but a myth
The world is gone and we must pay the cost
With nothing but our lives to bargain with
And then you come with cheery voice and say:
"I've bought you the domain: 'Sonnet a day'."