Should've known the day was Hell when we woke up to fire. The sun poured in and burnt my dreams-- and what a day it would sire. Bitten were you, Bugged was I, and we both stared, disgusted; I sprayed the poison 'cross the shelves until our comfort rusted. Toss the clothes and shake your boots-- Six legs cannot be trusted. So much for my lovely morning of sluggish limbs and HBO; Terror strikes, we're late again, Racing to the Steed, we go. Hours slug, as they do at work when you live the day for lunch; one sweet hour to be with Babe, to talk, relax, and munch. At the strike of five the race is on to accomplish, conquer, relax; 3 hours later (and a paycheck gone) I face homework in piles and stacks. Deadlines, due dates--THE INTERNET IS OUT AGAIN?! Frustration and a deep breath later, the conquest of the killer reds seems trivial to This killer equation-- Maybe I can snag an A with a bit of sweet persuasion. So much for the early trip to the land of dreams and Z's. Perhaps I ought to stay awake and gaurd, For the killer reds might charge and seize.