“Different strokes for different folks,”
A wise man said but he never spoke.
He was pushed
Until he was far away.
Some guy talking at me, third degree.
I had to rearrange him just to let me be.
He washed right out. Lost at sea
You might say.
Icarus flew too close to the Sun.
He was busy looking out for number one.
A flick of the wrist you might say.
No more final mistakes.
No more final great escapes.
There’s nothing more for you to fake.
Don’t look back as you turn the page.