I mentioned you in poetry a couple times today.
It seems I mentioned you repeatedly recently, my old buddy, Grey.
I can’t quit you, Grey, even though you left, so long ago.
I won’t quit you, Grey, though my heart may tell me so.

I was just wearing the dragon shirt that you said didn’t fit.
It was too loose on you. On me, it looks like shit.
I can’t quit you, Grey, no matter how hard, I try.
I won’t quit you Grey, even if you belly-up and die.

Some days the skies are blue; some days there’s only rain.
Some days are for dreams of hobos and jumping downbound trains.
and for holding onto thoughts of Grey (that’s you!); I hope that you know that.
Yeah, lots of ways to think of Grey. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

We had some glory days, and then again, Revellations
and maybe it was only me, but I had a lot of puns
and I won’t quit you Grey, even though you’ve quit many a job
even one wherein you learned so much ’bout ‘burn and rob.’

I didn’t mean today to be The All-Grey Tribute Show.
But that’s the beauty of waking up; what happens next? You never know.
I can’t quit you Grey, unless it’s Saturday.
That’s the Sabbath, boy. That’s when thoughts of you just melt away…