One night I got ambitious & wrote down all my thoughts in a song.
On a crisp, clean sheet of paper, I did it, and it didn’t take long.
It was so damn good – or so I thought – that I sang it again and again.
No one was there to listen. I just crammed the fucker in my head.
Where did it go? Where did it go? It was just right here last night.
Where did I put that notepad in which I like to write?
On the following morning, my breathe reeked, and I had a headache.
I went to sing that song again to see if it sucked, or if it was OK.
But I could not find my notepad – near the couch, kitchen, or the bedroom.
I ransacked my own apartment – until I remembered: Oh yeah, the bathroom.
Where did it go? Where did it go? It was just right here last night.
Where did I put that goddamn notepad in which I like to write?
It slowly came to dawn on me. It sent a quick shiver down my spine.
Beyond several burnt out candles, a pipe, & a couple empty bottles of wine.
I gazed into the toilet, where my worst fear was confirmed.
There was a crumpled piece of notepad paper next to a long brown turd.
Where did it go? Where did it go? As if I didn’t know.
Some motherfucker used my lyric sheet in a pinch on the porcelain throne.
Where did it go? Where did it go? I was starting to recall.
Was it really me who used my own lyric sheet to wipe my drunk ass afterall?
Where did it go? Where did it go? As if I didn’t know.
Some motherfucker used my lyric sheet in a pinch on the porcelain throne.
in a pinch on the porcelain.
in a pinch on the porcelain.
in a pinch on the porcelain.
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