At risk of wasting space,
Not taking advantage of each letter,
In the int'rest of haste,
Respecting the time of the digester,
The written word, itself,
Those who came before and bled on paper,
Collecting dust on a library shelf,
Those, now, who sweat in classrooms for their craft,
Who see where this goes wrong,
Who argue lyrics aren't poetry,
If they are put to song,
For all of this,
I ask for forgiveness,
I lack passion to know who I follow,
As well as scholarly rigorousness.
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