Ballad of a Stoic

listen my friends, across this land,

to the tale of a passionlacker man.

(his body was beer, his blood was wine,

and everyday he never whined.)

raised with beer and a dear old father,

he beat his mom and always called her mother,

he kept a tattooed cross on his behind.

the stoic way was a pain.​

or, said his walnut brain,

"i'm refined."

he went off to college to learn politics,

but overall it seemed he gave no shits.

he decided that smiles were for the weak,

claiming that the romantics were freaks.

his mind was sandpaper, generally unpleasant.

each emotional he claimed were peasants.

he went grayer than his soul

while stars spread out

he used quarters for laundry and

never gumballs.

he had lunch on a silver plate and never ate it all

"i don't feel!" with a scowl he'd shout.

just start to embrace his philosophy

in which you'll uphold mediocrity.

when judgement day came to take the divine,

the overseer took away his shrine,

and this stoic pretended it was fine.