The Rub

Here’s the thing, here’s the God Damn rub
When a man’s been worn down to the nub
All that’s left is a broken stub
Circumstance could not be more dire
There is no more rubber on the tire
There’s nothing left to inspire
It all comes down to the last straw
Last nerve exposed and rubbed raw
By gentle caress of hacksaw
Cutting deep, right through flesh and bone
No crueler wind has ever blown
Than when a man must stand alone
Here’s the thing, here’s the God Damn rub
It’s the child’s play of Beelzebub

T J Therien

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