Arnie Montgomery takes his time for it is surely all that he truly does have
Glad to be alive, only just
Must we gesticulate over all of these small things anymore
As opposed to living a relatively carefree and savoury life
He watches his loving wife who cradles his only child
A mild heart when all around haphazard goes on
Attempting to remain constantly on song, pouring into every next immaculate delivery
Ferrying the pain, tying a pretty pink bow right round all of these things which he has somehow, anyhow managed to gain
When will we see that real beauty does indeed lie within the crazed eye of the forgotten beholder
And place an unaccustomed hand upon each and every quivering shoulder

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