Trite words
just sit on the page
trying to be sage
it’s a strain

Sight words
that just set the stage
the tone…

We read, though
and discuss this tome
then remark and sigh
as we gauge
all those trite words
that sit on that page
just drone…

Trite words disguised
they all lie…

[instrumental break]

Bright words
seems like a task to read
no denying these
earn their gold…
But they might, sir
just drift and then fade
and grow mold…

I heard hushed sighs
as my eyes spy…
Trite words, oh, my
No thrill to eye…

No substance; none
and the absence shows
Read aloud the style
very clear; it blows
Like a glum dirge rite
or a squalling crow…

Nonplussed; I whine…
Now I find…
Teeth; I grind…

[instrumental break – builds into jam]

Trite words…
They are on display…
Much to my dismay…
So I say…
“Why, sir?”
I inquire in rage
then moan…

[brief instrumental]

Trite words; not sly
I decry…
“Absurd”, I cry
it sure applies…
Sight blurred; my eyes
I say, “Yikes…”
Trite words; oh, why???