Oft has he been here,
A hair’s breadth away
From ruin, so he fears,
Make haste, or rue the day
Time’s short and soon a’ wasted,
He sees the minutes fly
The panic he held thus bated
Lets loose, shit’s gone awry!
He hops upon his two-wheel’d mount
To carry him toward town
Flat tire?! For shame! A bald discount!
Alas, the steed was down
But waiting was the Manitou, so mystical, so fey
Calling him to grasp its tines and spirit them away!