I try.
Alas, I sigh. I cannot comply with living a lie I wonder why I'm not like every other guy not grounded or eyes on the sky I just am what I am, no Popeye, just a man. No Sam, I am. I eat no ham I starve for something else that keeps my health divested from my veins it's plain to the same four beyond the frame that my shame is tame compared to things that would scare even the most cared-for of shelter-coddled breast-weaned babies.
I CANNOT STAnd this constant demand for me to be the Son of Sam I feel shafted by a cam and it drives me nuts to go with my gut and leave this rut for unfamiliar territory just to see what I can see and be free as free can be, like the Mighty K.C.
