They say that life's a walk in the park,

A little sunshine, a little dark.

Some flowers bloom, some rivers flow,

And everywhere there's room to grow.

But tell me, which park have you been to?

Mine has monsters with nothing better to do.

The paths are crooked, the skies are grey,

And there's a man called Tinibu blocking my way. 

There's no map, no guide, no guarantee,

Just questionable choices and anxiety.

A dinosaur here, a disaster there, a bill that always needs to be paid

And somehow I'm expected not to despair.

They call it growth, they call it fate,

They call it patience when I'm running late.

But if this is life, this lovely walk,

I'd like to speak to whoever designed the park.

For I came prepared for a gentle stroll,

Not Jurassic creatures eating my soul.

But onward I go, with a sigh and a spark,

Surviving this godforsaken fucking park.