'Your brain is dead!' said the imp in my head.
'Pshaw!' scoffed I with bravery sly.
'You can't fool me. I don't agree.
Maybe muddled – with heat befuddled
But keen to chat at the drop of a hat.
And it laughed, the imp, and said, 'I'll get you.
Line me some lines, strong and true.'
So I got right up to make a brew
To brush my hair with thoughts askew
And here they are, from this heat wave stew!