Sick in bed, sick in bed,
Massive snot balls in my head.
What to do to pass the time?
Write a poem, try to rhyme.
Scratchy throat and itchy eyes,
Achy body my demise.
Haven’t seen a soul at all,
Save the Handy Graham (who’s tall):
Bringing TheraFlu at 5,
He made sure I was alive.
Now I’m zonked and bored to tears,
Out of Kleenex, out of cheers.
Coughing, coughing, cough cough cough,
Feel my windpipe closing off.
If I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take,
But if I make it through the night,
I pray that I’ll wake up alright.
For I get no vacation days,
If I don’t work, I don’t get paid.
So go, white blood cells! Andalé!
And chase this wretched bug away.
From my bed of lonely misery,
Annie the Sick
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Update! The amazing Andy Merrick is BRINGING ME SORBET!!!!!