The skeezy man, he wasn’t grand,

 his skeeziness was in demand.

He got so rich, he got so pans, 

he made his bed with randy plans.

It mattered not that it was lies, 

he fabricated all his cries.

His bogus kindness, phony gold,

it mattered, not, said younger told.

Well, in the face, the younger seen

Was evil, surly, ugly, mean.

He stole from kids, he ate old dogs,

He even lit on fire, clogs.

But in the latent, lonely sleaze,

There grew a blossom in his freeze

 No one thought of yester-morrow.

People leave behind their sorrow

People change, and people grow,

And people leave behind their slow.

The man who’s mean, the man who’s sad,

He leaves behind, within, what’s bad.

But those who live within his wake,

They live, they rise, and take the cake.

Love to all, and live with fires, angels live like burning tires.