With my bloody knuckles
and my bloodier knee,
which threatens to buckle,
what will become of me?
I’ve struggled and I’ve fought
just like the stories tell
but all that I have caught
are just all kinds of hell.
Now I see the limit
at the end of my path
but I cannot submit
to their justified wrath.
I’ll struggle to the end
because that is my way.
I’ll roar and rip and rend
on this: my final day.
The tangled threads of fate
drag many a mortal,
caught up in their own hate,
beyond the dark portal.
We traded words and we traded barbs;
we traded stories and we traded cards.
We’ve known each other for many years…
through childish play and warranted fears.
With luck, we’ll see plenty more
and relish all that’s yet in store.
To a man who makes us laugh and cry,
who’s shown us how to live and shown us how to die;
who took us out to tour the sights
and stayed close on those lonely nights;
you’ve been our hero, our friend, our bro,
a man we’re glad to see and know.
My tasks complete, I settle in,
quite long into the evenin’.
The bed is made, the laundry done –
the bills were paid (each and every one)
and I feel I can’t do any more
but try not to pass out on the floor.
A Sunday that was poorly spent
very much to my detriment
for I languished in near idleness
to make up for the wildness
of driving every which way
all throughout the previous day.
What’s the point of going out
if you can’t act like an ass?
What’s the point of living
if you can’t be crass?
Sometimes you’ve got to be a fool
when the sun goes down
‘cause you’ve got to live it up
when you go to town.
To hell with my lungs
and them wanting to stop,
to hell with my body
and its wanting to drop.
I struggle onward,
towards my set goal,
while listening to
my body pay the toll.
A (wise) man of two faces 