He had a bag. The books he packed in the sack on his back Gave substantial sustenance to open his eyes to the sequins To him this was indispensible. More and more he stuffed into the sack on his back Wiser was he but heavier his baggage became.
The clothes he packed in the sack on his back Kept him secure and safe, like superman under his cape. The more he brought the better he felt The more he had the better he felt Comfortable was he but heavier his baggage became.
The liquor he packed in the sack on his back Helped with the pain of perseverance And the acknowledgement of self-alteration As slowly as he was transformed by the rucksack on his back Began a man now a creature, a lost cause with no features. Sorrow hidden and demons remained as heavier his baggage became.
But as he strained to stay standing with the bag on his back His view of the stunning sequins distorted, Disappearing in the storm was the beauty of it all The struggle with the unnecessary weight was the squall That ultimately ruined whatever beauty he believed in.