The man in the leotard was on his way
from Vienna to Budapest
with a pocketful of clay
he had left his tiny town
on a sunny little day
with his wife’s wedding gown
and of-course his pocketful of clay
although the journey was hard
courtesy of his cursed mind
he kept up his cautious guard
and never let anyone get intertwined
through the storefronts and restaurants
between graveyards and vineyards
he frolicked and danced
still deeply under financed
on the way he met a few
who questioned his world view
but he held onto his dear clay
and made swans out of them all day
for a vision he had
of a distant future land
where he was happy and contempt
forever tax exempt
with hopes and dreams
he kept striving on
with not a soul by his side
but i guess he will be fine