He’s the freeloading cheapskate,
Full of loose change and hate,
Not a patron of the constitutionality of his certain traits,
Investing the rest that he has to offer to his trust,
He is the only true author that must have something to say,
Paying the day as he watches it move by slowly,

He thinks lowly of himself,
Waiting for his health to soon put him back in balance.
The malice overwhelms him,
Putting him into a state of mind,
Where hate condemns himself,
Until he finds the right kind of person to share his mind with.

He finds himself in the pith of his self-consciousness,
He finds his mind, in time through his physiological bench press.
His limbs hurt from the pushing and stretching of his certain muscles,
His mentality to be exact.

He forces himself to do things unimaginable,
Sometimes worrying himself,
He is not adjustable,
He is forced; he must,
Adjust