Scramble me

What’s the difference between the little egg with the two hens,
And the three little boys,
With only two little friends?

The first gets smothered in warmth and love,
The other ends in tears and blood.

You see,
The third gets called a wheel and fool,
Gets bullied and picked on every day at school.
All he really wants is someone to have his back,
And like that little egg he feels he just might crack.

But while the egg will just shatter and die,
The third is left to struggle and try.
All he wants is to be part of the two,
Be loved and respected here at school.

But it never happens in the first eighteen,
He grows older and weirder and a little mean.
He leaves the two and all the rest and becomes a short order chef.
He’s sure no one notices,
Buts feels them watching.
His days are little more than dawn and darkening,
And they swirl away faster and faster.
A life so simply headed for disaster.

He serves a few years in the pen,
Gets out and sleeps in a gutter,
Completely out of control,
A ship with no rudder.

He falls and flails,
Cries and heaves,
Never can come,
Never can leave.

Stuck in a life all alone,
Adventure lost,
Fully grown.
He finally ends up dead,
Rotting old basement painted with lead.

So if anyone ever asks if you’d like to be an egg or the lonely third,
Tell them you’d like to be birthed by a bird,
Forget the torture and torment of life.

Just scramble me.