Oh, give me a home where a great poet roams
Where the fear and the anger do play
Where nothing is heard there’s no spoken word
And the critics are buzzing away.

Poem, poem of deranged
Where the fear and the anger do play
Where nothing is heard there’s no spoken word
And the critics are buzzing away.

How often my plight where the Tweeters do slight
With the spite of the Twitterspheres’ trolls
I did brood there confused and dazed as I mused
If my story impedes vitriol.

Poem, poem of deranged
Where the fear and the anger do play
Where nothing is heard there’s no spoken word
And the critics are buzzing away.

Then give me a home where a bright poet roams
Flowing rapid down from my lead
Where this peaceful blue bird goes writing along
Like The Bard in a heavenly stead.

Oh I never complain my old poem of deranged
Where the fear and the anger do play
Where nothing is heard there’s no spoken word
And the critics are buzzing away.

As inspired by the song: Home On The Range