Sometimes when our work has been done, at some point misunderstood.
One day, out of my heart, I wrote a song,
With my heart’s blood infused,
Instinct with fervor, tremulously strong,
With grief suppressed;
Breathing a determination pain-bought,
And one who claimed much adoration
For what I wrought,
Read and considered it,
And spoke: “Hey, bro, – it’s well written,
But where’s the joke?”
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