The waves crashing against the shore, Wind howling as the branches tore, of the tree above me, Will I go no I won’t leave, I’ll push the boundary we call luck. I’ll stay put with my junk. This junk I own the last of stuff. Before I had more but now it’s tough. The beach is my home, the trees my shelter. No debts or loans, yes life is sweeter. So I’ll stay here until the morrow when daylight comes there’ll be true sorrow….