Pseudo legends in
their own minds,
kings of their hills,
walks of all kinds:
doctors and lawyers,
or Indian chief,
admirals, generals,
or corporate thief.
They drive taxis, wait
tables, or tend a bar:
tables, or tend a bar:
has-beens, burnouts,
coming from afar.
Please ask, they’ll tell;
do lend them an ear;
it’s sure to impress,
may bring a tear.
Most often there’s a
woman to blame,
did them dirty,
brought them to shame;
blissfully married until
one fateful day,
he lost her Jesus, or
found out he’s gay.
Once filthy rich,
now broke as a joke,
they hustle beer, or
an occasional smoke;
the would’ve, could’ve,
should’ve boys,
fallen heroes on the
Isle of Misfit Toys.
~gj duerrschmidt
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