Rust spots and bullet holes make me wonder why you sit alone,
Perched high on the mound that God built,
Trying to be the desirable marketing tool that you're great uncle twice removed could have been if he listened to his dad.
Being a vagabond really got either of us nowhere and it put a bullet through you're thin outer shell.
Now your stuck here and I’m the only one who visits.
I’d love to pick you up and clean you off but with the animals watching and all I’d better not
Until we meet again...
Maybe I’ll bring flowers next time