El Oso, El Oso,
Why dost thou persecutest me so.
I write, I try, but everything is too low
I wish some day, to write something
To make you smile, or to make you sing
Turns out sometimes, nothing can be done.
So you try it. Gol. I sit here and just suck at poems (on purpose) Geez. What on earth do you want from me?