To The Real World,
You are cruel and harsh.
Where man may not love as he pleases
and there is slush in the park,
You have winter in your blood
You judge a man by the knocking of his knees
not the ground on which he stood.
You leave golden dreams by the wayside
in favour of steel reality
and those who try and retrieve them, you criticize
I prefer the company of fools
who have toppled men and king in laughter
than let reality rule.
I prefer a world where there is no slush on the hill
Where a man may conquer in heart, in head, and in arm
Where a man's strength is measured by his will.