I was a highwayman, along the coach roads I did ride, with sword and pistol by my side. Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade, many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade. The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five, but I am still alive. I was a sailor, I was born upon the tide, with the sea I did abide. I sailed a schooner around the Horn of Mexico, I went aloft to furl the mainsail in a blow. And when the yards broke off they said that I got killed, but I am living still. I was a *** builder, across a river deep and wide, where steel and water did collide, a place called Boulder on the wild Colorado. I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below. They buried me in that grey tomb that knows no sound, but I am still around. I'll always be around, and around, and around, and around, and around. I'll fly a starship across the universe divine, and when I reach the other side, I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can. Perhaps I may become a highwayman again, or I may simply be a single drop of rain, but I will remain. And I'll be back again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. www.circlelineartschool.com