He stands,
cigarette in hand,
golden hair blowing in the wind.
Except it's not blowing because he cut it all off.
If you ask him why he'll tell you he doesn't know;
he just wanted a change.
He'll pick you up when you're
feeling blue and he'll calm you down
when you're feeling red.
With his hands he creates music
and with his mouth he creates laughter.
He is the essence of humanity.
He'll take notice when you do good
and he'll call you out when
you're acting like a ****.
He stands,
Bertran the Man,
atop his white van,
cigarette in hand,
short hair reflecting the sunlight.
He'll tell you he loves you,
only if he means it,
and by God he will make
you feel it.