A Lost Craft

Flying over the sea on my broomstick
On account of being so lovesick
I didn’t expect to be homesick
Or an uptick in feeling so seasick

I’ve always been melancholic
You do when you know you’re a relic
Being a witch is no frolic
And now an alcoholic

My existence has been so shuttered
The chances I had have been frittered
And all the spells that I muttered
To the four winds they have scattered

I suppose you’ve made the deduction
I’ve lost the charm of seduction
I’m feeling the pangs of rejection
I’m alone, no family connection


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