One of these days, my head's just going to pop!
The anger will build up like lava flows
under the crust, worm its way to the top,
find a weak spot, then look out! Thar she blows!
The cap of bone I wear atop my skull
will shoot off like a cork out of champagne;
my hair will curl, and the air will be full
at once of the confetti of my brain.
Maybe the steam escaping through my ears
will make a shrill, annoying, whistling sound;
the power will be such, it might take years
for all my bits to flutter to the ground.
So brush your teeth, kids, and get in your beds;
you sure don't want to see what's in my head.
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