There once was a boy whose name was unknown;
He was an aspiring king and was to be put on a thrown.

But a boy like him with no name at all;
Should not aspire for anything, unless it is small.

He wanted to be greater than great;
But he was a dreamer and his dream was too late.

As he grew older his dreams began to fade;
And the dream that he had would never be made.

“An average Joe Schmo”, he said, is all that I will ever be;
As he closed his small door and locked it with his key.

On a happy little street in a happy little town;
Is where this “dreamer” went to settle down.

With his mediocre wife:
His mediocre life;
His mediocre friends;
And a dream on its last ends;
On a cold winter night at a quarter to three;
The dreamer decided that what he had become was not what he wanted to be.

As he packed his bags he began to cry;
“My entire life”, he said “ was a mediocre lie.”

With a stomp on the gas he was off to the races;
His family woke up and had confused faces.

His wife never knew when he left or where he went;
And by his note she could not tell exactly what he meant.

“I will love you forever, my past mediocre life” it stated;
“But a dreamer has got to dream, I hope I am not hated.

The moral of the story, if you could not conclude;
Was dream forever and never stop or your family will be screwed.