It is the thank I have to yield,
To those who created me,
I am the dictator boss of whom,
Everybody is afraid to death.
As I was when I was young,
And vibrant and full of ideas,
And ideals, morals, righteousness,
All sucked away, slowly, unknowingly.
Many a tiresome nights I worked,
And died in the office itself,
Survived by a waiting wife at home,
And children wanting to play.
It all comes back flooding,
When I spend my evenings now,
In the company of those I love,
With time, and tide in my control.
Because now I am the boss,
The fearsome boss,
The one loathed and cursed,
And yet, honored.
Living in the sweet dreams,
I compile these thoughts of mine,
Which ever existed inside of me,
But never sweated out on the surface.
Maybe someday I’ll shrug off this shroud,
Of being a tyrant,
Or maybe someday you’ll learn how to lick,
(Yes, you know what)
Of the tyrant.