I inspect my shit, quite a bit,
It's a good way to break your brain.
Thinking about a microscope now, somehow,
To resolve the details plain.
The percussive fart, a form of art,
Resounding in decibel glee,
I hold the power, the height of the tower,
The proud master of all I see.
No trace of sin, just shreds of skin,
There's a whole lot of yellow in me.
The turds are good, once good food,
Now just overbearing spaghetti.
Unexamined shit is an unexamined life,
You can't get more clueless than that.
At least, if you see what comes out,
There's some satisfaction with getting fat.
Well, people think I'm mad, it's sad,
They ought to respect their shit.
It tells you of the time you've got, or not,
There's information in every bit.
The losses and ravages of time,
Show up in the smears of bloody red.
The sugar in the piss attracts,
Sweet-toothed ants queued to be fed.
The place stinks a lot, steaming stench pot,
The neighbors aren't at all happy.
I think I wear out their thin patience thinner,
When I proffer my stories of poop glory.
The gods never shit they say, nay,
They must then be hideously full of it.
I find it funny, my nose all runny,
Unlit the pious and puny dimwits.
When the gods explode, the only road,
Can lead to a room without a fan.
Their shit when the fan it hits,
Will be worse than this overflowing can.
I don't count my blessings, but my turds,
They speak only truth to me.
Today was a day, blessed I'd say,
The freshness of being shit free.
I ate a lot, this overflow a holy spot,
Many flavors of worms to see.
I touched one, it went back in the turd,
Its convinced I'm a hairy banshee.
