asleep by the end of verse II

I’m done, finished, whacked-out, beat
so far off my aching feet
I’d need a telescope to tell them apart
a scientist pointing them out on a chart
ten toes throbbing in the constellation of sox
a light year away, give or take a coupla blocks

I’m weary, exhausted, a waning moon
deflating like a party balloon
a clown tied quickly, grinning like hell
but didn’t finish the knot that well
so now it’s just a baggy mess
and what kinda animal ANYONE’S guess

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