In The Note Of Oink, Is Beethoven B Sharp Poem by James McLain

Your mind is lazy,
what is the first thing,
that came to your mind..
do not be offended,
i smile in you, it would change that.
In your ocean of pink it does play, you *sigh*,
the rest is just music,
musics you make, they are, are they not?
One lost key in the cord Beethoven played,
that you cry.
If it looks in your sifts, you oink,
when the pinks are stirred
you oinks,
yet if you insist in the first strain of thought,
whats the use in you,
never a woman, K-mart chopped.
Yet, you know..a professorial at what ever you do..
These colors are you, you may change, they do not,
mystical forest,
always changing the vines that cling.
Those sounds stop..listens, think back..
always clean never dirty.
This great void never filled,
within a void, within this your
awesome pinks,
in which It sleeps,
inside your dreams..I hear oinks.