Relaxing on a summer day,
enjoying a rutabaga,
when suddenly I realize, I don't want to stay.
I go to leave, I grab my rucksack,
with my mongoose bike and rutabagas,
there's no need to come back.
My dear Lola, or Al's clubhouse as Greene has said,
she's calling my name,
I'm gone, to paint this town red.
Any suggestions to make it better?