A Nauseous Nocturne By Bill Watterson Another night deprived of slumber, Hours passing without number, My eyes trace 'round the room. I lay Dripping sweat and now quite certain That tonight the final curtain Drops upon my short life's precious play. From the darkness, by the closet Comes a noise, much like a faucet Makes: a madd'ning drip-drip-dripping sound. It seems some ill-proportioned beast, Anticipating me deceased, Is drooling poison puddles on the ground. The End.