As I wake from eternal rest

As magic twines throughout my bones

I thinks of curses, and how blessed

I am to have my boney dome

Now when I lived

My head was crowned

By flowing locks

That flowed on down

down to the middle of my butt

And you know what?

I'm so damned glad it's not around

Now I love my boney dome

Not a hair now calls it home

Now you know why?

As I stare into the sky

My dead bones, no longer rushed

When the day is newly borning

I now no longer have to brush

A goddamned meter in the morning

Do you know how much it hurts

When your joints don't really work

And yet you have to pull and twist

And screw your precious bardic wrist

For what? For others. For the show

A whole danged hour doncha know

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To style, tame, to twist and braid

to make my looks look so well-made

So artful careless, and carefree

A pretty lie (not really me)

And yes, it was my bread and butter

Paid for my looks and yes, my voice

But screw it. I don't need to eat

The bare truth is bald is my choice

And now I've got it, ever more

And skip that hellish morning chore.

And maybe, if I'm feeling it

I'll one day varnish up my skull

Cuz shiny seems a nice fun choice

But serving others? Not my goal.

Cuz it's already killed me once

And so? My hair? The dragon burned it

And gave me back a hour's time

Every morning. (Hey. I earned it.)

When magic consciousness comes back,

My grave goods don't include a brush

That fact alone is good enough

To give my bones a morning rush

I skip that step now, every morning

As I arise from graven hells

I sit up straight out of my coffin

And go direct to learning spells.

I rise now, pleased, up from my grave

Delighted with my closest shave.