Follicles of pain, easing down into the brain.
Locks of glory lost to time, twenty years they've given shame.
Desperation led to products laid on thick to promise growth.
While friends would stand there laughing as their scalps with hair was choked.
Then one day the landscape was made empty with a blade.
Smoothness leapt up quietly to give the soul some needed shade.
Somewhere now those locks still lay, no memories in them left.
For they no longer decorate the smooth, smooth pate of Heff.