No longer a dream was it to live on the hills,
To sit back, relax, no crying over bills.
Feeling too bold, using gold, in return for—
— Pleasures of fame, of envy and trophy whores.
A one-man brand with the strength of a mad lad—
— Powers in green, my ideas a cash grab.
Yet little did I know of what was to come,
When I march too proudly, on the beat of my drum.
A sharp wrong move, a swerve to m...
