Post by Jack Hammond on Nov 21, 2009 23:09:25 GMT -6
Literally hours away from possibly one of the most important matches of his career, and Jack Hammond seems to have gotten out of his 'shadowy' funk and has left the confines of his hotel room, walking quietly and slowly down the streets of Seattle, his eyes drifting to the impressive city skyline above, the sky above dappled with clouds that drift across the azure backdrop of a mild afternoon. A wan smile plays across his lips, his expression settling on mild interest at his surroundings and the buildings that point towards the heavens, the bustle of people below so used to their presence, it seems that Hammond is the only person looking up.
"Y'know it's one thing to look at a building like this and simply play it off as being something functional. Something that we use as a place to live, to work, to rest or even to play. A place to simply seek shelter and be able to take it for granted with no need to fear for it suddenly toppling over on top of our heads. Despite their impressive stature, the amount of time, money and effort that it must have taken to build them, or even to conceive the idea..."
Hammond searches about, every face that passes him by having their eyes firmly fixed ahead, almost glazed and lifeless as they shuffle off to their next port of call, be it home, work or a shop.
"...well, it seems not to matter to most people. They keep their eyes front and down to the ground; No need to be silly and buck the trend by stopping to marvel at things you pass every day. Things that could, if we're honest, try a little less hard at trying to be pretty or impressive. Just so long as we can keep stuff in there to buy, sell or use, that's all we want."
Hammond shakes his head slowly, keeping his eyes fixed skyward as his smile begins to grow from the thoughtful, almost placid one that matched the herd-like crowd around him, to one that we're more used to.
"But there are some of us who can dare to dream. There are some of us who can look at these kinds of objects and aspire to put just as much effort or passion into our daily lives as it must have taken to design and build this skyscraper. Not content to ignore our potential and to strive to reach higher than we could have ever thought possible. Where others are fine with a boring, safe existence, there are some of us who will strive each and every day we're alive to make something better of ourselves."
Jack's confident grin only continues to grow, the inspirational music almost swelling silently in the background as he continues, his voice rising and his eyes burning with pride and passion.
"To be able to call ourselves the best of the best, the top of our game and not willing to make do with the norm. Willing to put our own reputations, our pride and our very lives on the line in the quest to attain those impossible dreams."
Hammond's tone strengthens, people around him stopping with surprise, wondering what this odd little foreigner is on about.
"To fight the unbeatable foe, to run where the brave dare not to go, to try when your arms are too weary, to reach the unreachable star! This is MY quest, to follow that star...no matter how hopeless, no matter how far, to fight for the right without question or cause, to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause. And I know if I only be true to this glorious quest, I WILL reach that unreachable star!"
His voice has risen to a loud, bellowing crescendo, his fists clenched and raised above his head, his eyes wide with excitement and a fiery passion, his Hamster smile resplendent on his face, looking for all intents and purposes as if he were ready to take the whole world on.
However, in the few heartbeats after the final syllable was uttered, there is a deathly silence that follows, Hammond's look of unflinching confidence starting to show signs of nervousness, his eyes shifting left and right at bystanders nearby, each of whom has taken a few steps back, one woman frantically searching in her handbag for her mace. To emphasise the silence, a few chirping crickets would not be amiss.
"Mommy? What's that man doing?"
"Shh! Don't look at him or give him money!"
There's a few more nervous moments before Hammond clears his throat and his look of pure 'come and get some' is very quickly replaced by a furious embarrassment which isn't helped by one of the camera crew just out of shot quietly asking Jack if he realises he'd just quoted a song that had been sung by such great artists like Shirley Bassey, Luther Vandross and Elvis Presley. Hammond very quickly silences him with a betrayed stare, and quietly speaking in a timid voice.
"I think we're going to need to move to somewhere else. Now. Please."
So saying, the camera cuts out for a moment, the image coming back with Hammond now locked in the safety and privacy of his '69 Bullit Ford Mustang, the camera mounted on the dash watching the urban scenery flit past the windows, towers of concrete and glass catching our eyes in the slowly fading light. Hammond shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes fixed firmly on the road, that embarrassed blush of his still lingering on his cheeks as he clears his throat.
"Right, so the director said he wanted me to do something that was quite opposite of yesterday, seeing as everyone thought I was being a moody git with all that shadow and dim light, 'ooh-lahdy-dah I went to art college' stuff. Said that people prefer seeing a more self-confident, more assured Hamster and that doing a stirring motivational speech to rival those by people like Churchill, Luther King or even Honcho, would in return give me the confidence that was so needlessly lacking from my last promo."
He arches a sceptical eyebrow, his eyes finally meeting the camera lens.
"Well, I suppose he got what he wanted in the form of something that will be immensely motivational and encouraging. Not to me, however, seeing as the way that I pretty much made an idiot of myself is enough to probably give my opponents, Falcon and Sexy Jason, enough confidence to wonder if I'm even able to find my way to the ring this Sunday night. Either that, or perhaps they'll be laughing so hard I can cause them indirect hernias and win by default; Either way, it's not that satisfying for li'l ol' me."
Letting loose an irritated sigh, Hammond settles back in his seat, hands gingerly placed on the wheel, his tension from making a right arse of himself in front of downtown Seattle starting to ebb slightly as he continues.
"However, as much as I'm already hating to relive what my psychologist will probably refer to as one of my more 'interesting episodes', I don't really regret what I meant behind it. Yesterday was just a jumble of words that I thought would sound alternately funny and threatening, and I can only really pull one of those off at a time, albiet quite badly at that. Falcon did have a point which kind of hit home a bit too hard when it's pointed out to you by someone who openly admits to trying to be a 'mentor', despite the fact a few months back he betrayed me and thanks to that I trust him about as much as I trust Gordon Ramsey not to swear whilst making dinner, i.e. not very much. However, there was one thing that irked me slightly; he's told me, indeed he's told all of us, that I didn't 'seem myself'."
There's a slight pause and another quirked eyebrow followed by a slightly incredulous frown from the Hamster.
"So I need someone to monitor me and tell me if I'm still 'being the Hamster' now, do I? Falcon, you want to leave your own mark in your own way, you'd prefer to make a change and see everyone else become 'better people'; an nCw in your image, as it were. Perhaps I'm reading it wrong and instead you're just a dick, but that'd just be rude of me. But like I ranted a little earlier, I strive each day to be a better person. Perhaps sometimes I can muddle my way to learning a way not to do it, but I'd prefer to learn on my own, not someone else trying to tell me what's best for me; I'm big enough and old enough to make my own mistakes, Falcon."
Jack blinks, a thought popping into his head before he shrugs noncommittally, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Well, maybe not big enough, but you get the idea. And now that the jitters of being thrown into this fracas unexpectedly has got me in a tizzy; just maybe this way of thinking, this way I want to compete will see me stand victorious this Sunday; I want to win, plain and simple and I will throw everything I have, everything I am and more at the pair of you to even try and come out on top. To be the 'plucky underdog' again; biting and scratching for everything he can get."
He manages another shrug of his slim shoulders, now fully relaxed, the ranting incident quickly being banished from his thoughts as he continues confidently.
"Okay, so it'll be more than likely that I'll come away carrying a few good bruises than that title belt, but having a shot and managing to prove I wasn't just a third wheel, not just someone who happened to be along for the ride and fighting my corner and holding my own for even just a while would be plenty."
A smile, not of confidence, not of glee or cheekiness, but a genuine smile of excitement spreads like a warm glow across Hammond's face. But quickly, that mischievous twinkle is back in his eyes as he holds up a finger.
"And don't think I forgot about you, Jason. As much as I hate to bang on the baby oil jokes, I have to admit that watching your last promo made me wonder if Johnson's (who make the eponymous infant care product) have sponsored you yet. I mean, I can just picture it, being broadcast all over the nation."
He waves a hand in front of him, imagining big, bold lettering in the ad campaign flying across the screen, even imitating an 'American Ad Man/Voiceover' voice.
"'Johnson's Baby Oil sponsors Sexy Jason! Not just for those creepy body builders anymore!' Or how about; 'For oh-so-soft and oily skin that even sandpaper can't get a grip on, Johnson's Baby Oil sponsors Sexy Jason!' 'The perfect gift to give Sexy Jason before Christmas; Johnson's Baby Oil!"
Hammond eyes the camera guiltily for a second, suppressing a fit of childish giggles.
"Sorry, I've got a few of these, please bear with me."
Before he can continue or even take in another breath to spew out yet more garbage, the image cuts out followed by an extended censor beep, a handwritten message being thrown onto the black screen reading 'Enough with the damn baby oil jokes already - The Director'. Eventually, the image of Hammond comes back, apparently just ending his little trail of lame oil-based quips.
"-when you pull them down and it's all 'hello Mr. Droop-'"
Another cut to black screen and extended censor beep, along with another message reading 'GET ON WITH IT', in a slightly similar, yet angry handwritten scribble from 'The Director'. Once more we cut back to Hammond in his seat, just finishing another joke, emphasising by pumping his fist back and forth suggestively in mid-air.
"-being shoved in his face repeatedly!' And that's all I've got, honestly. Really, I am literally spent verbally in terms of jokes involving bay oil. Though I hope for some of you it has been an entertaining..."
He glances momentarily at his wristwatch, his eyebrows rocketing upwards in surprise as he notes how long it has been sine he cracked his first 'joke'.
"...45 minuites. Wow."
Jack clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably before glancing at the camera again, his eyebrow already in mid-arch.
"Now I suppose Jason, as well as a few other people could have a giggle at him trying to compare me with a skyscraper, seeing as in building terms I hardly even constitute a well-built bungalow. But all jokes aside, I can see your determination. It seems that all three of us are trying to impose upon one another how much we are willing to put ourselves through, not just for the chance at a title, but at a shot for greatness, to go down in history for being in one of the greatest title matches of all time. To dream, despite how much as I hate quoting Elvis, the impossible dream."
Hammond pauses, his thoughts overtaking his speech for a moment long enough to send him into blissful silence momentarily, his hands moving across the controls of the car as it rumbles down the Seattle streets, bucking slightly as he catches a gear and jumps away from the lights, scattering a few surprised bystanders.
"So we've got to wonder what could set one of us apart from the other. And I'm not talking about trying to be Bill Cosby to everyone, or how much skincare product we happen to use, or how much of a dick we can make of ourselves in a large public area and probably suffer serious psychological trauma because of it for quite a while after. Those things can define us in terms of how we're perceived, how we can be treated, but they mean nothing when it comes to facing each other in the ring. Egos checked at the door, personality and charisma take the night off, all the jokes and insults are cast aside for those fleeting minuites when you feel the adrenaline surge up inside you, the desire to win, the need to succeed takes over."
Hammond's trademark confident Hamster GrinTM plasters itself all over his face as he nods at the camera, bringing his car slowly to a halt now, the scenery suddenly going dark as he seems to enter some sort of building.
"I've felt what you guys desire, and I've heard what you want to happen. What needs to be said has been said, and we can all understand one another so well, we could probably do each other's promos without practicing. But now it comes to equating that desire into effort. Making all of those promises and words into action. And as much as I can rabbit on and make a dick of myself, I know that my hands, my fists, my feet...my body in that ring can write a better statement of intent onto the canvas than I could ever hope to articulate onto paper or into speech."
The Mustang slowly rolls to a halt, Jack switching her off, listening quietly to the engine ticking itself cool in the darkness of the parking lot. Hammond quietly continues, his voice ringing loudly now, not all that dissimilar to how he spoke at the beginning of his promo.
"So Jason. Falcon. The time for words is over and the time for action quickly approaches. Will it be making a mark and a change to this business that comes out on top? Will it be all that pent-up desire and ambition that conquers in the ring? Could it even be some short bloke from England who wants to win who causes the upset yet again? There's only one way to find out and I'm willing to bet neither of you would have it any other way."
With a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, Hammond opens his door, stepping out of the car and into the parking lot of the KeyArena, production trucks parked around him with various support staff and engineers rushing to and fro. He stands in the middle of this melee, the chaos and mire of cables, lights and cameras and smiles, revelling in the growing excitement that builds up inside him as the stage itself for what could be one nCw's greatest performances is being built itself.
"Dare you dream?"
With that, the scene promptly cuts to black.
---
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
"Y'know it's one thing to look at a building like this and simply play it off as being something functional. Something that we use as a place to live, to work, to rest or even to play. A place to simply seek shelter and be able to take it for granted with no need to fear for it suddenly toppling over on top of our heads. Despite their impressive stature, the amount of time, money and effort that it must have taken to build them, or even to conceive the idea..."
Hammond searches about, every face that passes him by having their eyes firmly fixed ahead, almost glazed and lifeless as they shuffle off to their next port of call, be it home, work or a shop.
"...well, it seems not to matter to most people. They keep their eyes front and down to the ground; No need to be silly and buck the trend by stopping to marvel at things you pass every day. Things that could, if we're honest, try a little less hard at trying to be pretty or impressive. Just so long as we can keep stuff in there to buy, sell or use, that's all we want."
Hammond shakes his head slowly, keeping his eyes fixed skyward as his smile begins to grow from the thoughtful, almost placid one that matched the herd-like crowd around him, to one that we're more used to.
"But there are some of us who can dare to dream. There are some of us who can look at these kinds of objects and aspire to put just as much effort or passion into our daily lives as it must have taken to design and build this skyscraper. Not content to ignore our potential and to strive to reach higher than we could have ever thought possible. Where others are fine with a boring, safe existence, there are some of us who will strive each and every day we're alive to make something better of ourselves."
Jack's confident grin only continues to grow, the inspirational music almost swelling silently in the background as he continues, his voice rising and his eyes burning with pride and passion.
"To be able to call ourselves the best of the best, the top of our game and not willing to make do with the norm. Willing to put our own reputations, our pride and our very lives on the line in the quest to attain those impossible dreams."
Hammond's tone strengthens, people around him stopping with surprise, wondering what this odd little foreigner is on about.
"To fight the unbeatable foe, to run where the brave dare not to go, to try when your arms are too weary, to reach the unreachable star! This is MY quest, to follow that star...no matter how hopeless, no matter how far, to fight for the right without question or cause, to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause. And I know if I only be true to this glorious quest, I WILL reach that unreachable star!"
His voice has risen to a loud, bellowing crescendo, his fists clenched and raised above his head, his eyes wide with excitement and a fiery passion, his Hamster smile resplendent on his face, looking for all intents and purposes as if he were ready to take the whole world on.
However, in the few heartbeats after the final syllable was uttered, there is a deathly silence that follows, Hammond's look of unflinching confidence starting to show signs of nervousness, his eyes shifting left and right at bystanders nearby, each of whom has taken a few steps back, one woman frantically searching in her handbag for her mace. To emphasise the silence, a few chirping crickets would not be amiss.
"Mommy? What's that man doing?"
"Shh! Don't look at him or give him money!"
There's a few more nervous moments before Hammond clears his throat and his look of pure 'come and get some' is very quickly replaced by a furious embarrassment which isn't helped by one of the camera crew just out of shot quietly asking Jack if he realises he'd just quoted a song that had been sung by such great artists like Shirley Bassey, Luther Vandross and Elvis Presley. Hammond very quickly silences him with a betrayed stare, and quietly speaking in a timid voice.
"I think we're going to need to move to somewhere else. Now. Please."
So saying, the camera cuts out for a moment, the image coming back with Hammond now locked in the safety and privacy of his '69 Bullit Ford Mustang, the camera mounted on the dash watching the urban scenery flit past the windows, towers of concrete and glass catching our eyes in the slowly fading light. Hammond shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes fixed firmly on the road, that embarrassed blush of his still lingering on his cheeks as he clears his throat.
"Right, so the director said he wanted me to do something that was quite opposite of yesterday, seeing as everyone thought I was being a moody git with all that shadow and dim light, 'ooh-lahdy-dah I went to art college' stuff. Said that people prefer seeing a more self-confident, more assured Hamster and that doing a stirring motivational speech to rival those by people like Churchill, Luther King or even Honcho, would in return give me the confidence that was so needlessly lacking from my last promo."
He arches a sceptical eyebrow, his eyes finally meeting the camera lens.
"Well, I suppose he got what he wanted in the form of something that will be immensely motivational and encouraging. Not to me, however, seeing as the way that I pretty much made an idiot of myself is enough to probably give my opponents, Falcon and Sexy Jason, enough confidence to wonder if I'm even able to find my way to the ring this Sunday night. Either that, or perhaps they'll be laughing so hard I can cause them indirect hernias and win by default; Either way, it's not that satisfying for li'l ol' me."
Letting loose an irritated sigh, Hammond settles back in his seat, hands gingerly placed on the wheel, his tension from making a right arse of himself in front of downtown Seattle starting to ebb slightly as he continues.
"However, as much as I'm already hating to relive what my psychologist will probably refer to as one of my more 'interesting episodes', I don't really regret what I meant behind it. Yesterday was just a jumble of words that I thought would sound alternately funny and threatening, and I can only really pull one of those off at a time, albiet quite badly at that. Falcon did have a point which kind of hit home a bit too hard when it's pointed out to you by someone who openly admits to trying to be a 'mentor', despite the fact a few months back he betrayed me and thanks to that I trust him about as much as I trust Gordon Ramsey not to swear whilst making dinner, i.e. not very much. However, there was one thing that irked me slightly; he's told me, indeed he's told all of us, that I didn't 'seem myself'."
There's a slight pause and another quirked eyebrow followed by a slightly incredulous frown from the Hamster.
"So I need someone to monitor me and tell me if I'm still 'being the Hamster' now, do I? Falcon, you want to leave your own mark in your own way, you'd prefer to make a change and see everyone else become 'better people'; an nCw in your image, as it were. Perhaps I'm reading it wrong and instead you're just a dick, but that'd just be rude of me. But like I ranted a little earlier, I strive each day to be a better person. Perhaps sometimes I can muddle my way to learning a way not to do it, but I'd prefer to learn on my own, not someone else trying to tell me what's best for me; I'm big enough and old enough to make my own mistakes, Falcon."
Jack blinks, a thought popping into his head before he shrugs noncommittally, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Well, maybe not big enough, but you get the idea. And now that the jitters of being thrown into this fracas unexpectedly has got me in a tizzy; just maybe this way of thinking, this way I want to compete will see me stand victorious this Sunday; I want to win, plain and simple and I will throw everything I have, everything I am and more at the pair of you to even try and come out on top. To be the 'plucky underdog' again; biting and scratching for everything he can get."
He manages another shrug of his slim shoulders, now fully relaxed, the ranting incident quickly being banished from his thoughts as he continues confidently.
"Okay, so it'll be more than likely that I'll come away carrying a few good bruises than that title belt, but having a shot and managing to prove I wasn't just a third wheel, not just someone who happened to be along for the ride and fighting my corner and holding my own for even just a while would be plenty."
A smile, not of confidence, not of glee or cheekiness, but a genuine smile of excitement spreads like a warm glow across Hammond's face. But quickly, that mischievous twinkle is back in his eyes as he holds up a finger.
"And don't think I forgot about you, Jason. As much as I hate to bang on the baby oil jokes, I have to admit that watching your last promo made me wonder if Johnson's (who make the eponymous infant care product) have sponsored you yet. I mean, I can just picture it, being broadcast all over the nation."
He waves a hand in front of him, imagining big, bold lettering in the ad campaign flying across the screen, even imitating an 'American Ad Man/Voiceover' voice.
"'Johnson's Baby Oil sponsors Sexy Jason! Not just for those creepy body builders anymore!' Or how about; 'For oh-so-soft and oily skin that even sandpaper can't get a grip on, Johnson's Baby Oil sponsors Sexy Jason!' 'The perfect gift to give Sexy Jason before Christmas; Johnson's Baby Oil!"
Hammond eyes the camera guiltily for a second, suppressing a fit of childish giggles.
"Sorry, I've got a few of these, please bear with me."
Before he can continue or even take in another breath to spew out yet more garbage, the image cuts out followed by an extended censor beep, a handwritten message being thrown onto the black screen reading 'Enough with the damn baby oil jokes already - The Director'. Eventually, the image of Hammond comes back, apparently just ending his little trail of lame oil-based quips.
"-when you pull them down and it's all 'hello Mr. Droop-'"
Another cut to black screen and extended censor beep, along with another message reading 'GET ON WITH IT', in a slightly similar, yet angry handwritten scribble from 'The Director'. Once more we cut back to Hammond in his seat, just finishing another joke, emphasising by pumping his fist back and forth suggestively in mid-air.
"-being shoved in his face repeatedly!' And that's all I've got, honestly. Really, I am literally spent verbally in terms of jokes involving bay oil. Though I hope for some of you it has been an entertaining..."
He glances momentarily at his wristwatch, his eyebrows rocketing upwards in surprise as he notes how long it has been sine he cracked his first 'joke'.
"...45 minuites. Wow."
Jack clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably before glancing at the camera again, his eyebrow already in mid-arch.
"Now I suppose Jason, as well as a few other people could have a giggle at him trying to compare me with a skyscraper, seeing as in building terms I hardly even constitute a well-built bungalow. But all jokes aside, I can see your determination. It seems that all three of us are trying to impose upon one another how much we are willing to put ourselves through, not just for the chance at a title, but at a shot for greatness, to go down in history for being in one of the greatest title matches of all time. To dream, despite how much as I hate quoting Elvis, the impossible dream."
Hammond pauses, his thoughts overtaking his speech for a moment long enough to send him into blissful silence momentarily, his hands moving across the controls of the car as it rumbles down the Seattle streets, bucking slightly as he catches a gear and jumps away from the lights, scattering a few surprised bystanders.
"So we've got to wonder what could set one of us apart from the other. And I'm not talking about trying to be Bill Cosby to everyone, or how much skincare product we happen to use, or how much of a dick we can make of ourselves in a large public area and probably suffer serious psychological trauma because of it for quite a while after. Those things can define us in terms of how we're perceived, how we can be treated, but they mean nothing when it comes to facing each other in the ring. Egos checked at the door, personality and charisma take the night off, all the jokes and insults are cast aside for those fleeting minuites when you feel the adrenaline surge up inside you, the desire to win, the need to succeed takes over."
Hammond's trademark confident Hamster GrinTM plasters itself all over his face as he nods at the camera, bringing his car slowly to a halt now, the scenery suddenly going dark as he seems to enter some sort of building.
"I've felt what you guys desire, and I've heard what you want to happen. What needs to be said has been said, and we can all understand one another so well, we could probably do each other's promos without practicing. But now it comes to equating that desire into effort. Making all of those promises and words into action. And as much as I can rabbit on and make a dick of myself, I know that my hands, my fists, my feet...my body in that ring can write a better statement of intent onto the canvas than I could ever hope to articulate onto paper or into speech."
The Mustang slowly rolls to a halt, Jack switching her off, listening quietly to the engine ticking itself cool in the darkness of the parking lot. Hammond quietly continues, his voice ringing loudly now, not all that dissimilar to how he spoke at the beginning of his promo.
"So Jason. Falcon. The time for words is over and the time for action quickly approaches. Will it be making a mark and a change to this business that comes out on top? Will it be all that pent-up desire and ambition that conquers in the ring? Could it even be some short bloke from England who wants to win who causes the upset yet again? There's only one way to find out and I'm willing to bet neither of you would have it any other way."
With a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, Hammond opens his door, stepping out of the car and into the parking lot of the KeyArena, production trucks parked around him with various support staff and engineers rushing to and fro. He stands in the middle of this melee, the chaos and mire of cables, lights and cameras and smiles, revelling in the growing excitement that builds up inside him as the stage itself for what could be one nCw's greatest performances is being built itself.
"Dare you dream?"
With that, the scene promptly cuts to black.
---
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
