Forever a queer.
The choices I make, are not clear.
My choices, are my staple.
For I am The queer on Maple.
I found a man.
Let's call this man, Stan.
Stan never thought he could put up a fight.
He always thought it till that one fateful night.
Stan had taken a shot, for a man he did not know.
The man was a writer, who wrote as if he was on blow.
Stan was lying there, screaming in agony.
I had heard him, saved him with my own hard earned money.
We rode in the ambulance, whirring as it drove by.
Stan tried to talk, but his mouth stuck like it was dry.
I knew he had to speak.
I bent down and kissed him, but the connection was weak.
The kiss worked, but in the wrong way.
Stan had just died, and to that I rue the day
Forever a queer.
The choices I make, may not be clear.
But my choices, are my staple.
For I am The queer, that lives on Maple.
