Down the river, in a red canoe.
To the market, or back to school,
You buy the costumes, while I chase the fool.
The path less travelled or the common man's road,
I figure the signals, while they handle the load.
I dont cycle by choice and I can sense the grin,
The soles seem colourful, but they're known to sin.
When the path is murky, the steps reassure,
Choosing one while closing many a door.
One leg calls it luck, while the other yells fate,
If only them toes pointed straight.
I wish the job ended with deft touches on sand,
But having come thus far, it's not mine to demand:
But still, why not the road which led to Rome?
Or the one where shoes come free?
The one down which the well-fed kings strode?
Why not my very own yellow brick road?
Comes, say the Great Flood, to drown us all,
Lose your dry heels, but lose not your mark.
The pair of you, like rabbits and geese,
Shall find a place in my very own ark.
But the regrets and mistakes shall never drown,
Nor will the dark lanes you led me down.
They'll linger around for years, again,
Waiting for some more shoes to stain.
If life were a game, then blame is my ball,
Yours to catch, or trip over and fall.
Now take the next left, for I must go on,
Untie my laces, but then be gone.
Who am I kidding, my life's mine to complete,
For I have no excuses, I control my own feet.