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.