Strange is a man that believes in rhyme or reason;
That life is as certain as the changing of the seasons.
But strange is a man that believes in nothing at all.

There are three goddesses of anarchy;
Three pillars of a chaotic matriarchy.
They are as fickle as they are divine;
Empty are their churches,
And dusty are their shrines.

Mother Nature lies underfoot;
Displeased by smokestacks, ash, and soot.
Worship Mother Nature, and find no reprieve;
When the wind cuts cold,
And the daffodils freeze.

Her temper is short,
A fury that is both ceaseless and striking.
Her angels fly on chariots of thunderclouds,
Pulled by horses born of lightning.

So I put no faith in Mother Nature.

Miss Universe sleeps above;
Unconcerned, unrelenting, and devoid of love.
Worship Miss Universe, and find no respite;
When dreams become tinder,
And the flames burn bright.

Her starry-eyed skies,
Are filled with wonder and dread.
She weaves a tapestry of life,
Just to cut through the thread.

So I put no faith in Miss Universe.

Lady Luck dances through the town;
Twisting and turning with a joyful bound.
Worship Lady Luck, and find no relief;
When misfortune arrives,
And tests all belief.

Her shoes are too tight,
And her skirt doesn’t fit.
She’s afraid to pirouette,
Yet, she’s too proud to quit.

But I put my faith in Lady Luck.

Her smile sets the world in place,
Dancing is what brings it to her,
Which, in turn, brings good luck to those in her wake.
But she dances in shoes with worn out lace,
So if she should trip,
I shall accept it with grace.
And as she continues to dance,
I will cheer her on,
As she twists and twirls,
Into a new dawn.
When she smiles upon me,
I know that good fortune has struck.
I hope I never live to see,
The last dance of Lady Luck.