True challengers of the unknown, living on borrowed time,
the punch line behind the joke arises at the end of every line.
Fine, a rhyme scheme so simple it could be sung by a mime,
using gestures designed to orchestrate and sign,
every pointed word, every poignant verb to escape from the whine
of the guitars wailing, syncopated sailing from fret to fret it’s not a nine,
on a scale of one to ten it’s a dime,
an easy way out, I opine, that in a musical bout,
yeah, you will find,
that with a scream and a shout,
the take all will be all, will be mine