They said he was no genius,
No hero of the mind was he,
So he shut his door to the world,
With only him to keep him company,
He sat before a blank page,
His mind twisting and yearning,
A pen poured forth his rage,
A poet's life he was learning,
All he had was in his head,
And some weren't sympathetic,
He'd just as well be dead,
He was so damn pathetic.
Would he give birth to a dancing star?
He had not lived long,
Would he go that far?
This is the story of many of our young,
Reaching for that shimmering moon,
Most of them die too soon.
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