Observational Tragedy

There's a swan in the river. Glistening like a porterhouse steak, it makes its first mis — I wish I could be free like that swan. Free to float where the lecher's roam; free to please as I please; free to give thanks to banks and part with seas. But who'd update the times? It's either freedom or self-sovereignty. And no one's giving me an easy answer. Hmm. Maybe my mike's not on. Hello? Testing, testing, swan two three. No one reacted. It must be on.

You know what a swan represents? A swan represents the glorious, albeit brief, union between two older swans. And you know what I represent? I represent the swan. The trial's tomorrow, followed swiftly by the tribulation. I'll be there, of course. And so will you, I hope. We can sit there and watch the jury box. It's going to be a wonderful match. Maybe I'll even strike it. Not too hard, mind you, just enough to keep it in check and obedient.

Not that I would say anything like "I'm feeling lucky. Lucky's feeling luckier", but sometimes things get twisted and, well, it sounds that way. I'll tap off the beaten path whenever possible, though. And drink from the faucets of tennis. I'm also not liable to say something like "I'll blow a balloon until the air bursts out", but again this dude gets misconstrued. If only words weren't so definite and minds weren't so unappealingly made-up.

But the swan, still see-sawing and cutting a fine line through the lake, has become restless. Then again, maybe I just haven't seen it sleep. I'm only there two minutes a day, after all. Unfortunately that didn't hold up well in court. You won't catch me trying that again. Goodnight.