History either makes you a survivor or a victim,
You bet your life at playing a game of chicken.
Every time you cross the street of no name,
You take a chance of achieving a dull outcome or fame.
The car with no license plate will invade your private parts,
Life is beautiful but also filled with venom, slime and farts.
A perfect baby with no flaws at all, perfect in every way,
Grows older and gets imperfections added to their life day by day.
And they will survive as best as they can,
Whether as a young lady or a handsome young man.
But the imperfections come like packages of hail in a storm,
And the body and mind become weary and the wrinkles are worn.
What of all the knowledge gathered by time,
Gone with the Wind, oh such a mental crime.