The Big Myth

The shoulder is cold,
the grey
gravel road
seems to have
no destiny,
stuck
in
a
dull brown
wilderness,
oh where am
I going?
Somebody
told
me
that this
road
goes to
snow
capped
mountains
and the land
that's smells
like Christmas
and ice,
Where everything
is beautiful,
Somebody
told me,
that I could
be whatever
I want
 if
I work
hard
enough,
but I've
learned
so well
that this is
a myth,
Your deck
has to have
kings and
queens and
jacks
and aces,
in
the cold
blackjack
game of
life,
for it
 has
little
mercy
when
You
make
the big
mistakes,
to the black
sad point
of no
return,
if your
not rich
or beautiful,
or smart,
you're pretty
well screwed
from
birth,
the world is
stubborn
with pigheaded
masses
who only
care about
what they
stuff in
their
mouth
and their
material
vanity,
so vain
that they
make me
want to
barf,
all I  have
is me
and
this cell
of poverty,
broke as
fallen
china,
hoping
that I'll
find
the gate,
a door
to a
happy
life