Exercises in futility... From hopping up and down playing guitar(see me hop in vid clip above at sold-out gig) in the 90's Punk Hardcore scene to running up and down on an automatic multi-functional treadmill that can be programmed to talk to you. Cute? Between these two (inside of this introspective self-exploratory retrospective), I continue to opt for neither one, and will keep on leaning on the 'Road Less Traveled.' bye.

PostScript in lyrical form as advised by Ms. Valerie June Baker. 

Won’t do right, and he can’t be told
No, He can’t be told,
No, He can’t be told
Won’t do right, and he can’t be told
No, He can’t be told,
No, He can’t be told

Spent his whole life running
Trying to meet a mark
Seems like every moment
Put him back at the start
See how he livin'
See where he's bound
Same destination
6 feet in the ground
Eagle bird got his eye on you
got his eye on you
got his eye on you
Eagle bird got his eye on you
everything you do
got his eye on you

Ain’t tryin' to be nobody
But my fine sweet self
Honey, if I give you everything
then, I'll have nothing left
If I've gotta break the law
To be free from your chins
I'll plead self-defense
when that judge calls my name

Rooster crowed in the dead of night
Knew it wasn't right
to crow before daylight.