Oh, Mr. Poet, so lost in your haze,
Chasing the smoke of your endless malaise.
You sit in the dark, like some tortured sage,
Kicking pebbles while you're trapped in your cage.

With every cigarette, you seek to ignite,
The spark of hope that just won't take flight.
But, darling, don't you see the truth that’s clear?
You’re just a dreamer with a bottle of fear.

You talk of heroes, but where’s your cape?
You’re more likely to trip on the stairs of fate.
A good deed here, a spark of light—
But, oops, it’s gone by the time you get it right.

Family calls, “We believe in you!”
Yet, you’re still in bed at half-past two.
Not saving the world, just saving the crumbs,
Wondering why the universe won’t give you some.

So, go on, sit beneath that endless sky,
Kick those pebbles, maybe even try to fly.
But at the end of the day, the truth’s on display—
You’re just a poet with a lighter, stuck in the gray.