A poem...by me...

I can’t outrun a speeding bullet, tall buildings aren’t my thing.

There’s no “S” on my chest and my red cape is being cleaned. 

I’m doing my best, but some days that don’t mean a thing. 

Phone booth down for maintenance and I’ve got to explain to Ms. Lois Lane why the world keeps crashing to the ground! (Again!)

I’m getting too used to making excuses, while the paper’s slandering my name.

My vacation’s taking too long they say. 

And they’re wondering where I went wrong.  Or maybe is it that I’ve just gone insane?

I can’t outrun a speeding bullet, leaping tall buildings isn’t my thing.

There’s no “S” on my chest and my red cape is being cleaned. 

I’m trying to do my best, but some days that don’t mean anything. 

I can’t stand around and wait, while you make up your mind.

Posing for Olsen, while he snaps a photograph I wonder how long this peace of mind will last.

I hear Atlas at the door and he’s wanting to fight for no reason at all. 

Guess it’s another skeleton in my lair.

I can’t outrun a speeding bullet, leaping tall buildings isn’t my thing.

There’s no “S” on my chest and my red cape is being cleaned. 

I’m trying to do my best, but that don’t mean a thing. 

Put on my red boots, blue tights and fly around for a while, just to wave high to the passengers in the plane.

If I’m not Superman, then who should I be?

I can’t outrun a speeding bullet, leaping tall buildings isn’t my thing.

There’s no “S” on my chest and my red cape is being cleaned. 

I’m trying to do my best, but some days that don’t mean anything. 

I can’t outrun a speeding bullet, leaping tall buildings isn’t my thing.

There’s no “S” on my chest, but that don’t bother me.