I wrote this poem three years ago. I’m pretty sure I wrote it about someone in particular, although the maelstrom of the past time makes me forgetful.
Oh look at that fortunate son. He thinks he has it all won. Born at third base He’s ahead of the race Off running 'ere the sound of the gun. Oh look at that fortunate man Selling you all that he can. You can be just like him Though it all looks so grim, All dark before you began. Oh look at that fortunate guy Telling you lie after lie That “they” keep you down Making you drown. Ah, there, he got a bull’s eye. Don’t look at yourself for too long, Don’t ask yourself what it is that's wrong. Just follow him far To that fabled star And listen to his soothing song.