The Solitary Reaper

I like to fight my own battles
I make my own shield, my own spear
Watch the wolves go down with a howl
Pump the fists, and grunt a victorious growl.

The lone ranger appeals to one and all,
In the middle of the desert - oh yeah, he stands tall.
Share thy spoils with none,
Let not a soul get a bite of the fun.

I've come a long way out
From the maddening crowds to the deafening silence
In the cacophony of the many shrieks and whispers,
Each throat must have its own clout.
(I'm still tipsy in search for that balance)

I set the finish line, and lap it up
Sometimes with ease, sometimes I displease
Even when the chequered flag goes down
I'm looking for shades beyond the black and the white.

When I talk to you on the radio
Listening for how to make it across that chicane
I have my sights on the straights ahead
That will race me back to the start
There's always a new game to be fought.

I look the sun in its eye
Roll over in glory, my face glowing red
But when the champagne dries up,
And the tifosi have gone to bed
I won't remember the thrills of the street
Nay, the blurs won't even find their feet.

I'll romp back home and toss the silverware
Overlook the plaques, the medals and the new bullet
Set the candles on a table for two
Until I realize - "there is no spoon".

When I turn the static off the radio
When I clap for the robe that nonchalantly flutters
When I won't have to stare long enough to discern,
Will I see beyond the glistened mirror
And watch you smiling back at me.
Its only then, my dear - I will miss you.