I want to be bone and gristle,

The shock of a punch and the bellow of a train whistle…

I want to be sinew like wires,

The rough smell of sweat and the flesh of tires…

I want to be weathered skin and fearsome eyes,

With a glance that makes sure your will to fight dies…

I want to be the screech of guitars and the wailing blues,

The rumble of the bass and the concrete beneath my shoes…

Anything but this slave chained to old choices,

Haunted by decisions and tormented by regretful voices.

I want to be another man…

But I guess that wasn’t part of the plan.

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