Danny Francisco was a lonely soul,
His corpse rotting away in the cold;
Summertime passed, fall came,
His dismayed body fell close to shame.
Crime after crime, his body began to weaken,
Until the night he found a beacon.
34th Street was where his miracle happened,
All alone, and everything mishappened,
Along came a missionary who sat down beside him,
Fed him, watered him and relightened his body dim.
Released himself back into the wild,
Ran away broken and became defiled.
Lost boy, now a man, decisicions wasted,
Bad choices ruined a man who hasted.
Met a girl, had sex, fell out,
Married, had two kids, divorced with a clout…
Where is he now?
Does anyone know?
Does anyone even care to go where he once went so low?
Or will fate start another row?
Woe is the tale of Danny Francisco.
Onwards one must go …