The story of the Little Red Screw.

There's a circle made of red,
On the wall above my bed,

It sits there on its own,
In the corner of my eye,
And I dial on the phone,
Tell the lady I'll just die.

And I've never known its use,
And although it's no excuse,

I can say I never need it,
But one day when it's gone away,
And it's just a little knit
In the wall, I'll only see grey.