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A fly flies up before my face
As I traverse ol’ Lucy’s bog.
I wave an arm and in poor grace,
I tumble forward off my log.
My leg sticks deep into a hole.
The stench assails like putrid hog.
I work to keep my lunch down whole
And find my leg is firmly stuck.
All struggles seem to take their toll
And down I sink into the muck.
I let out screams but no one’s near.
It seems as though I’m out of luck.
A constant buzz feeds off my fear.
The flies are stalking over me,
And then one lands despite my leer
And takes a bite of flesh with glee.
The rest drop down like rain to eat.
They fill my eyes; they’re all I see.
I wish that somehow I could beat
The waves of bugs right off my eyes.
Instead they gobble up the meat.
They drink the tears amid my cries.
My mind soon fades and I realize
That I’ve become the Lord of Flies.