i've heard stories of men repainting white fences
to avoid the nagging wife while children chow down on candy
an annually fattening neighbor hollering greetings that are eternally too friendly
and the hardship of the soul loses meaning and thus control

it's not me and never will be
with my pants around my ankles and a belt around my neck
when the sun comes down and the breeze awaits for me to get the check
with too much wine on my dry tongue to be pleasant

i don't need to screw a pheasant
in order to transcend my chicken heritage and fly
such denial happens to be just another way to die
and thankfully there truly is for that a plentiful selection of alternatives