Plight of the Slave

Plight of the Slave                             January 21, 2005

I appear to all a home body, 

Someone who never leaves town. 

I seem to be an understudy 

To a fool, to a clown. 

Now the clown, he owns me. 

I'm his slave, that's a fact, 

And if I did try to flee, 

I would be tracked down and whacked. 

I need to get away to a far off place, 

Where I can get piece of mind. 

I need to see the good side of the human race, 

For the evil in it is making me blind. 

All I want is a little peace, 

Something I know must exist. 

I'd like to have my release, 

For this torture must cease and desist. 

Freedom comes at a high price, they say, 

So I best prepare to pay my dues, 

For if I want freedom to come my way, 

It's either all or everything to lose. 

The clown, well, he just frowns 

At the thought of my running away 

To foreign countries and stunning towns 

For many, many a day. 

It's freedom for me, as I've said, 

A sweeping change for me, 

As I've defeated the clown, put him to bed, 

And then set sail out to sea. 

I'm whistling some tunes, sweet, sonorous tunes 

Way up high in the sky, 

And I've explored below from hot air balloons, 

And will do so until I die.