Weighed it on a scale Lighter than air Invisible sometimes Difficult to care for Gathers such dust Impossible to clean My days are numbered but it may be many Time will tell Saw it on the news What a time to shoot You'd they'd get bored of death But the wheels keep turning Pothole is the bath The blood is the wine The culture's the salted brine But the meat's been spoiled Time will tell I saw the spider in your hair Can't tell the strands from the web Lost in ascetic gardening Trepidation Musaceae