To Whom This May Concern:

I drip drops of water,

on each and every night;

Though I make it harder,

with every line I write;

Each time I see you there

I can't contain myself;

I think this isn't fair,

to see you on some shelf;

A doll with all her toys,

can buy just anything;

You're sure to get the boys,

and about everything;

To look upon you will

turn to be my downfall;

And when you got your fill,

you nailed me to the wall;

Am I thrown, so confused,

and in the end, just Fin?

Like your toy, broke and used,

tossed away to the wind.