The world erupts, a cacophony of creaks,
door hinges argue with the stubborn past,
chairs moan like aching old men, tired.
The symphony of stuck is relentless, loud.
But then, a silver can hums softly,
its whisper drowns out the chaos.
WD-40 isn’t a miracle, exactly
more like a lullaby holding things together.
It coaxes the unyielding into surrender,
turns grinding into a smooth pirouette.
Bolts loosen, air swells with relief,
and suddenly silence is a revelation.
Imagine no peace for rusted guts,
a sticky hinge never finding grace,
the rattle stealing sleep from the walls—
what a noisy life to endure, unkind.