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It ain't much, but it's free.

Under the sheet that covers me,

White as the snow but black as night,

I beg all visitors that be,

"Close the door and turn off the light."

In the grip of ambivalence

I've often winced and cried aloud.

Asked to bestow but a few pence

I've hid within this bedding shroud.

Beyond this place of ruffled frills,

Looms the horror of work and strife

But while me mum is paying bills

I'm freed to sleep away my life.

It matters not that you berate,

Or plead with me to set some goal,

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.