Hairless Minstrel
After Gold Dust Woman, by Fleetwood Mac

Rock on, hairless minstrel
Take your silver tongue
And sing her praise

Epic challenge
Put your pen to the page

Wake up in the morning
Think of how your puns will astound
Lousy poets choose their muse
But they never make her proud

Well, did she make you write
Make you sit down
Put you in a hypnotic state?
And is it finished yet
Did you forget
The rest of us so anxious await?

Rock on, undead queen
Toy with those who quail
In your shadow

Zombies make bad poets;
Better keep the hairless one alive

Well, did she make you write
Make you sit down
Put you in a hypnotic state?
And is it finished yet
Did you forget
The rest of us so anxious await?

(Ooh, her shadow's on the minstrel... Mm, dark raver...
Ooh, her shadow, she's a siren... Hairless minstrel.)

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