Happy face and good manners
So polite, ever graceful
A relic of times ever gone.
On the porch he is waving, to the crowds beyond
In a chat he will mumble, and then, he will wander…
Get lost in the mingle, and drunk, on fake fun.
Again he will squander His lightning and thunder
For bread crumbs and water, for bus fare and quarters
Again he will ride towards home.
There he sits on his throne,
His clothing are strewn
His face full of bristles and yawn.
He knows for a fact,
That his pact really f***ed
For all his bouts in the ring, He can’t ever be king
There is, no hope, for a true, happy ending.
- – Yehoshua Aryeh