(Yes the commas are supposed to be here, please pause at each one. I shouldn't have to tell anyone to do this.)
Who?
Who, threw the rock, that landed, on Jim?
The rock, whose jagged edges, instantly, killed him
Or did the rock, throw itself, so consumed, with its spite?
And is this, on the inside, what all rocks, are like?
Do they talk, to the pebbles, on their right, and their left?
Do they speak, of the anger, inside of, themselves?
And is it, so great, that they rise, off the ground?
And on, some poor souls, head come, raining down?
With no eyes, there so see, can they target, a sight?
Can a rock, that is blind, put up, a good fight?
Impossible, I say, here you have, a hard sale
Do you expect me, to believe, so fantastical, a tale?
No its you, my dear friend, who threw the rock, at Jim
For we all know, you held grudges, inside, against him.
