Fortunate Son

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.


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