In the heyday, spent an hour in the mirror,
Making sure every strand in place with no errors …..
The mane was the main way to the attention,
Of the Dane dames in my bedroom’s reflection.…..
What a heresy to admit the thinning crown,
This King dethroned, he’s gotta get outta town.…..
The games begin on how to cover this up,
Admitting the loss was just for punks.…..
Now everyday had to be planned,
Was it windy or rainy
just call me the weather man…..
Every climate meant a time to enlist,
In a war against my stylist— the self-anarchist.…..
After the long battle, the white flag waved high
The zero fade was in, and there was no need to cry…..
The new look projected a serious tone,
A message protected with malicious prose.…..
No Shampoo no barbers, I’m saving the coin
Helmets and hats are now easy to employ…..
It all became easier when she noticed me,
My head was cleared holistically.…..
Image and Identity use to be blurry,
Experience divorced them oh so slowly.…..