If not joy, it shall be of annoyance,

With the circular notion of this life.

Like at a world’s end on a voyage,

I’ll die without the title of one’s wife.

But I rather have fortune through trials,

Rather than fake value grown on trees.

I’ve walked in these shoes, a million miles.

I’ve come too far to return the old me.

If not annoyance, it shall be of joy,

With the addition of motivation.

When I look back at every girl and boy,

That I’ve influenced out of temptation.

So I’ll continue to polish and shine,

I refuse to give up on confinement.