the tiny black spot on my ceiling

 the thought of my thought is what its stealing

you do nothing but sit there every day

 i wonder if you'll forever stay

i wonder about your thoughts and dreams

you look lonely as to me is seems

maybe you need a friend

one of mine i could certainly lend

maybe another spot like you

that is certain i could do

throw my paint brush up high

so a friend i bring you please dont die

for, speck you are my friend now

your role in my life is larger than a supple sow

the day that you will disappear

I know there will never be a cure

for the world

or the curled little girl

dying from a small balck swirl

on her ceiling

her mother sheilding

her from that tiny black spot

that will soon make her mind an empty lot