He was the sunshine man in those frozen days,
And these are the chronicles of his reckless ways.
Life came a few circles and all that he’d got,
Few borrowed dreams and a list of what he shalt not.
Blame his lame spirit, call it his wit,
He lost out a few times but never lost it.
He was no sprinter, nor would he last the long run,
He ran and he stumbled, clearly he wasn’t the one.
Bruised, he scrambled, keeping painfully at it,
But one blissful morning, he woke up and quit.
Now, he strolled past the playa’s, who sat awhile to rest,
And sat with some others, only at their behest.
He met with some wrong’uns; they formed a merry band,
And took a mighty U-turn, who cares for the end.
In the final picture, whatever their quest,
All fooled themselves, though some earlier than the rest.