I, so young, fruitful, and high
on the extravagance of life
spot the funkiest electric travelling
beat coming into sight.

The man approaches, asking me to
come and take a walk.
But to strangers I simply
tell this man I'm not supposed to talk.

The man says kind-like smiling all wide,
"I'm a stranger than who? A stranger than you?"
Slyly replies the stranger than I.

"And so you say that I may be strange
for my tophat and clothes have such colorful range.
But if these threads force you to think such a way
just look upon my beard growing so long and gray.
And just because you do not know me, it doesn't mean
that you should "no" me."

"Perhaps your are right," I say with delight.
"From what my eyes can see you are quite alright.
The strange is no more, not for you nor for I.
For my name's McGovern, McGovern's Pollite."

"It's so nice to meet you once stubborn McGovern!
I was born with the title Sicillian Summer!
But for short call me Summer, I go by no other.
Now let us adventure my newly made brother."

And off we went 'round the world and afar.
From Orion's belt straight towards the North Star.
The great majesty's sea pulled us out with its tide.
Thus, Summer and I were a universe alike.

But Time's Father's old ticker struck at such great speed
that Summer was old now and I was displeased.
For I did not want Sicillian to leave,
but my great misfortune was Summer's last need.

"Why wary McGovern, my grown younger brother?
I've shown you the way of Sicillian Summer!
My time has run out for what times's worth I wonder.
But don't you cry now, once stubborn McGovern.

Here is a token, a keepsake for you.
My tophat is yours for my life is now through,
wear it while jumping from the planets to the moons,
and all other moments, your life's lovely tunes."


...



Summer is gone now and I walk down a road.
Top hat tight on, bearing colorful clothes.
A young boy sees me from a ways up the road
and I can't help but feel for his being alone.

I approach the boy asking if he'd like to take a walk.
But to strangers the boy tells me he is not supposed to talk.

I can't help but wonder am I a stranger than he?
Surely he is not a stranger than me!

I can walk
this world,
tall or short,
figure one or figure eight,
black or white
has long as my word is on everyone's lips,
has long has i top the gossip list.
              
Fame,
name
all the same.
Money,
folly
all making me naughty.
            
Pleasure,
leisure
all in my ATM treasure.
            
Screams,
dreams
all over the TV screens.
          
I vanish
and smear my ego with a gold polish.
Taking a break, i call it.
              
I could snap my fingers in an empty room
and in an instant it becomes a party room.
          
I walk
through the storm,
cloth the sun,
re-decorate the night sky.
I'm in the world
i'm breathing
and i'm famous.
        
What is the point in not bragging?
When my style isnt manual.
        
What is wrong with being sick in the head,
when ranking makes you un-stable:
most expensive car,
most craziest style,
most funkiest hair,
most hottest chick,
most coziest house,
most expensive jewelleries,
most socially active,
most drunkest driver,
most party crasher,
most grammy receiver...
        
It never stops
till your hand drops
and suddenly the light leaves your eyes
and your heart takes to retirement.
        
The flesh
forgets to carry with it
all it had acquired.
The Grave shuts the stink.