A horde of ambitious, young hopefuls
traverse roads with perpetual bends
as they wade through the flood to the rainbow,
and find a glass half-drunk at the end.
Their armour seems rusted now they see
the hypnotic, utopian glow
of the shields that sit, wheezing with gold dust
on the overgrown green grass below.
Gold is quite flimsy in nature,
but the body adopt it with haste.
Their old armour abandoned on dirt ground,
its steel shining bright on the waste.
And the party decide to wage forwards,
their hope and their hunger in tow.
Craving to eat in the new fields
Where the wise say the freshest fruits grow.
The apples are sweeter, more pungent
than all the food tasted before.
And the lingering sugar on their tongues
makes the band grasp the tree to eat more.
Despite how their stomachs stay empty,
the saccharine party drives on.
With arms weak but sparkling and handsome,
they stagger under the setting sun.
From bird’s eyes, one sees their path’s roundness.
Their thirst for the best won’t back down.
So, lead on by the tastes that consume them,
march our club in the red dressing-gown.
