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.