When it rains it pours.
It pours my time out.
It poors my bank account.
It pours gasoline on my soul.
By drips and drops,
It runs out of control,
and I fight to try to bring it back
under,
Though it seems I've no fight left to
muster
But a little help from my friends–all
I need,
Or so some have led me to believe.
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