There’s an angry little boy
Running ‘round in all my clothes
Pretending to be grown-up
While picking at his nose.
His suit is quite expensive,
Those shoes? Italian-made.
This boy had best be careful --
He knows how much I paid.
He struts about importantly,
Commanding with a glance,
Puffing out his hollow chest,
Pantomiming dance.
He bellows empty orders,
And stomps impatiently
As all around him cower
And search for ways to flee.
He spends his money freely,
On shiny toys and games,
And stuffs his head with candy
To soothe the burning flames.
He’s good at playing grown-up,
Though it brings no joy.
He fully looks the part,
This melancholy boy.
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