o'er the shore, a man,
clinging onto his crutch, like,
it bears his golds, he's
younger than yesterday, he,
never knows how, man, woman,
and the kids,  know his teeth set,
he sometimes is tacky,
that's for a human, he loves,
he loves me, my mum and papa,
his blare when we come swimming,
is suffice a tell, though he's never,
like, totally told us his roots,
he is secret, secret like the fairy land,
LA La land that envelopes in him,
and the flowery scenery he doesn't see,
but lives a delusion,
secret like the angelets that encompass,
those that failed, to cross him over,
like he's been craving but no longer,
he's the butterfly flying in the desert,
that could spot a rose in the thorns,
he's never seen us, mama, papa and I,
we've lived an illusion.