Leech

Here drives the janitor to refute range

so gently rendered to illogical strains

Within its path lies a coat that turns

where once intent is now rendered infirm

This is the haute couture of the leech

that preys upon its subject in an eminent way

I can't play the Roman fool and die of my own sword

What fool the beggar when he gets no

gets no reward

Fuel my revulsion with a nerve so strong

so vile

Here comes the rain

here it comes again

Ride your own waves and waive the rules of fair play

Who keeps a straight bat when the umpire turns away?

Play the frail equal as the tide turns towards you

But tea and sympathy has never been one of my strong points