A little man there lived before my time,
Love for God and country filled his soul,
He wanted to begin his life anew,
He said he would do anything he could.
Until he saw that he must choose to fail,
What has he succeeded in,
If not in not succeeding?
His life has been malfunctioning.
This line he keeps repeating:
"I think I can, I think I can,"
But still the man cannot.
He's running off his railroad tracks;
The engine's getting hot.
Time slips away that once was his,
His dreams of victory
Seem little more than nightmares now,
A morbid fantasy.