What spiteful creature lurks,

Who knows my every irk?

You, my malign brother, are who.

We have our little wars,

Of hiding behind doors

Then jumping out and screaming "BOO!"

Our games of Hide-N'-Seek

Are always rather bleak;

My hastily found seclusions,

Your slow, steady hunting.

My tiny heart starts thumping;

I awaited prosecution.

As you pin me down,

My wrists onto the ground,

As your spit drips into my face,

I gape at the fat glob

My face it will soon daub.

Both of our childish minds race.

If I tattle on you,

Oh, the things you will do.

Like put my hand in warm water

As I lay sound asleep.

Or in my room you'll creep—

Oh yes; you're quite the plotter.

But where did our days go?

You're at an all-time low!

Where did our boisterous days go?

Smokes, drinks, women galore.

Money, you're begging for.

Tell me. Where did the days go?