The trouble with being a goldfish
Is not what you would think.
First and foremost, year by year,
The fish bowl tends to shrink.

The plants in here are kinda weird,
Not like I've seen before,
Same with this little bubbly thing,
And the food is bland, for sure.

But round 'n round 'n round I go,
Living from meal to meal,
And no one stops to say hello
Or ask me how I feel.

That's okay, because I know
They think I'm not so bright,
And even though I'm all alone,
I'm doing quite alright.

But next time that you pass me by,
Do give a little wave!
And one day when I'm old and die,
Dig me a proper grave.

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