Poetry

A friend of mine who goes by Doombot
Has a job she likes...I really think not

This job of hers, it really didn't thrill her
And in the end, this job, would most likely kill her

She knew herself she just couldn't take it
And one day soon, she might not make it

Then, one day, sharp knife in one hand
She went to make a blood red wrist band

The thought of her friends, her sis came to mind
Again the will to live and survive she did find.

And then on the net, she came to the village
Advice from her friends she had planned to pillage

And so I write this, conveying my feelings
To tell her my thoughts of the wheelings and dealings

Get away from it, Doomsie, dump it and make a new start
On the perfect dream job, the one close to yer heart

What happens after you've quit, I can't say, I dunno
All I know is you gotta get outta this low

The Village loves you doomsie, no matter what you do.
We'll do what we can to look after you

I wish you the best now. Go out and live life.
But never, never ever fall under that knife.