Ok, this is an odd one. No song model. Inspired by a tale I heard bout a moose graveyard in Canada.
A moose drinks from a pond
Of which he is fond
In northeastern Ontario.
There is a heavy fog.
The moose drinks and wades in
As he wades the shore fades to dim
The bottom is mucky, sucking clay.
There is a heavy fog.
When it’s time to head back to shore
He turns in the fog and drinks some more
He turns again, but where is the shore?
He’s panicky now
Changes direction again, continues to plow
Who knows where.
He does not.
Yet he continues to slog
Lost in the fog
Mired in the clay
He has lost his way.
I can still hear his moaning today.
A man plunges into his dream
He can taste the gleam
He knows Rome wasn’t built in a day
He doesn’t count on the heavy fog
Enough, he thinks, that goal was all wrong
I wanted that one over there all along
He turns for “there,” but soon loses sight
Disoriented but driving through the foggy night
Who knows where.
He does not.
Yet he continues to slog
Lost in the fog
Mired in the clay
He has lost his way
I still feel the panic today.
A moose drinks from a pond
Of which he is fond
In northeastern Ontario.
There is a heavy fog.
A man plunges into his dream
The promise of it gleams
With the fog comes the fear
But his doubts become clear
The man changes course
With violent force
And changes again
As do many, many men
He is lost