I used to be a savior, always to the rescue,

Then I tumbled down a dry well,

On a vast land of seclusion

As people refused to pay their dues.

 

What do I see for miles and miles? 

An unending bed of gold dust;

I'm fighting through the wind of vile

Shivering with hunger and thirst

 

Suddenly, I spot two arms wide open,

In the squiggly vision of blur,

Perhaps he's calling for me, 

He's here to be my savior.

 

With copious hope 

I pierce through the morbid scorch 

To finally meet the one who'll save Me

Who'll take me back to my wooden porch.

 

I'm crashing, feeling ill,

Crawling towards him

But he shows no zeal;

Still standing there waiting for me,

With open arms.

 

As I get closer, I see clearer. 

I see the mighty green figure 

Embedded with umpteen needles,

Mocking my plight of feeble.

 

And again, I fail to find my savior.