They go around the bend moping,

The weary soul lassoed in fear,

Sees no way to keep on coping.

Perching high above the raging sea,

Tipsy–toes standing on the bridge,

Trouble ahead and trouble behind,

Tempting you to jump oer' the edge.

Fellows, the end of the black path of fear,

Is welcomed by a graveyard of sad regret,

All those who go down that slippery slope,

Ghastly heart-cries to their doom have met.

Pythons of life creep up at night,

Their art of strangling your life,

Squeezing until your blood runs dry,

A wastrel’s slow haste until you die.

Fly from the dark eye and run for your life,

I’ll throw a touchdown pass you can catch,

“Every journey has an end,” quoth Seneca,

Light will come when you strike the match.

Life is alive a romantic honeymoon,

A newlywed’s passion boiling over,

Tapped by Cupid’s arrow light and lovely,

Shivering till love warms your lonely heart.