Bonds of stupidity

Crawling back to square one
Being close but no cigar
Guts tell me I am running dry again
Rolling down on a sloping scene
Doing fine in a foolish dream
I feel like I’m running dry again

I’ve boons beneath the lees
I’ll fly above the leaves

Going down like a lead balloon
Now honored as a prime buffoon

I couldn’t cut the mustard
Couldn’t keep the muse
I’m ploughed in making you the apple of my eye
In my way of loving
In my way to live
I’ll play it quizzical till meeting someone else

Itching high as hoping dies
Showing strength when no request
Guts tell me I am running dry again
Drawing plots from frustration times
Going straight for the millionth scar
I feel like I’m running dry again

Hey, honey, I’ve an axe to grind
Pretty perfect for a funny farm