The lazyman never leaves his bed.
He sees it as his workplace.
You tell him to, 'GET UP!'
He tells you to, 'SHUT UP!'
'Cant you see I am working?'

Day and night,
he prays for daily bread.
Hunger has become his dread.
Glorious dreams of weath
beacon on him like a light.
He has put them round his head like a wreath.

Procastination is one of his weapons
for anyone who tries to unveil his onions.
'ONE DAY,'
has become a rhetoric for his day of harvest.

The lazyman makes me laugh.
If only he peers at the other side,
he'll see he can upturn his slide.
There are drops of laziness in every man.