I have a song stuck in my head today.
I distract myself, but it won't go away;
It's what my head-radio can't help but play,
So it's probably good that I like it.
The voices that sing in my head aren't my own.
They ring as if played through an old gramophone;
I can hear the changes to the song's real tone,
And I'm not at all sure that I like it.
The song that is playing is stuck on a loop,
And, if I could find it, I'd jump through the hoop
That would let me escape from where I'm now cooped--
And I cannot confess that I like it.
I hope with great hope that it will not be long
Until I can rid my poor head of the song
That keeps playing and playing where it doesn't belong.
If I reach that point, I will like it.