They claim I’m insane,
That I can’t control my inner cycles.
That my mind’s fickle
That somehow I laugh when it don’t tickle
That I’m so broke
I feel rich with a nickel.
That if the worlds collided in the middle
I’m the pickle
My ways don’t trickle
to the next kid. That if indeed I tripped,
It wasn’t because of their stick
That they’re the Doc and I’m sick.
I claim I’m sane.
That there’s more than me to blame.
That if my leaders weren’t lame.
If they’d never messed my brain
I’da never lost in life’s game
That if I had a second chance
I’d do things I never had to take back.
I’d take things slow, Never with a flurry.
I’d love, I’d dance I’d make and enjoy friends
I’d share laughs,
I’d give and never take
I’d shake off the Fake Rust of others.
Replace their hate with great.
Then shine like the stars a far
Even if I did slip, fall down and bust my lip.
I could still live with it.
“Cuz I know it was due to my own stick.
They’ll claim one day,
When it’s all said and done,
Imagine what he could’ve done?
If only they and we would’ve been a bit nicer
Maybe been a better leader?
They’ll try to forget
However what won’t fade.
What they won’t deny.
Is that the kid had fight.
That no matter how far he bent,
He never broke.
And in despite of their mistakes
Which helped mold his fate,
The kid stayed real never fake.
With no life line
He swam back to the boat. With no hope he stayed afloat.
His backbone was made of iron.
We miss him, we love him
We wish we still had him
For the next kid.
Let’s remember to pick up our stick.