*Whose scifi is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite sad though. It really is a tale of woe, I watch him frown. I cry hello.

He gives his scifi a shake, And sobs until the tears make. The only other sound's the break, Of distant waves and birds awake.

The scifi is room, scary and deep, But he has promises to keep, Until then he shall not sleep. He lies in bed with ducts that weep.

He rises from his bitter bed, With thoughts of sadness in his head, He idolises being dead. Facing the day with never ending dread.*

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