As I move away drifting apart from my root
Seems like a man of passion is turning brute
Left with no time for pursuit
Killing the passion of a recruit
Worse is the scenario hard to compute
Like an alien land is chosen to enroute
Thriving somehow despite impute
Made a lively person mute
Still pursuing the unknown route
Thinking of fame I still commute
Ready to kill for the ultimate fruit
Chances of survival are bleak to permute
Like a pack of cards we all rout
As the stronghold tends to dilute
One thinks of life and fears disrepute
Eventually turning diamonds to soot
Fragrant bodies with souls pollute
Blinded by success in pursuit
Some may agree but many refute
People snoot even if one deserves salute.
To gain success they would even shoot.
I seem to enjoy the toot
At times I outshoot sometimes I undershoot.
Staining your soul and being imbrute
Ultimately either you’re part of loot or you enjoy
the loot
Depending on your deeds on the route
People will finally impute
Last man standing deserves all the fruit
