My existence is somewhat sketchy
Born of a beautiful tree
Could have dwelt in the hands of Da Vinci
Instead I’m a plain old HB

Forgive my pontification
Your putting my nose out of joint
Quite frankly to put it bluntly
Its pointless denying my point

Since when do I resemble a drumstick
For rhythms that frequent your head
Lets face it your no Phil Collins
Devastating my soul made of lead

Then to add insult to injury
An act that beggars belief
You masticate my exterior
Have you seen the state of your teeth

A victim of artistic endeavour
Reducing my appearance to skelf
Still I’m not one to grumble
Don’t like drawing attention to myself