Earworm

Dear Mr Earworm, nestled in my brain-meat,
Spinning those songs that I dislike,
Like some god-awful DJ stuck on repeat,
Over and over, but never the whole song,
Just parts that earworms like,
And you see, that’s what is wrong,
If you played the full tune, it wouldn’t be so bad,
But you tease with a few words,
And this drives me mad,
Next time you feel like partying with a tune that I hate,
Spare a thought for your home,
My brain-meat, that you constantly frustrate.