Song written by MICHAEL TARTAGLIA
TITLE: ALL ABOUT THE LUCK
As he crossed the line
For the second to last time,
He couldn't believe
For once he wouldn't grieve. . .
His car was actually winning.
The thing seemed competitive
Albeit all too repetitive,
Compared to the past
He was having a blast.
Mind you his car is not too forgiving.....
He was racing through the track, time number 64
Paying all too much attention to the engine's roar.
Eleven years he has been with this sport, right?
To his shame he should lose every fortnight?
On his pre-victory lap, he reflected on what was before.
Engine failures here, gearbox problems there
And laughing press and tifosi 'most everywhere,
There was nothing he could do
For his boss or his own pit crew
To put it the best way it just wasn't fair.
Though it happened to be different today.
He raced just and no one retired in any way.
His mind was faster than his car
So they both were venturing fast and far.
To say it the best way his luck was having sway.
He started to steer onto the front straight.
Fans screaming and hooting as if he were great.
And no one to this day can ever seem to rate
His sudden change of luck or maybe his fate
From starting gate, to that ending straight!
He could reach out and grab that checkered flag
For the mechanics to use instead of the oily rag,
And everyone heard
A sound not from a bird,
A bang! ... "That thundered in their ears," they'll brag.
He was still alive. I can assure you that.
He was rolling quickly to a stop on that finishing lap.
The joy turned to panic and panic into fear.
What he was about to face was a feeling so wierd.
The car decided to hault.
He thought he blew it.
And everyone knew it.
He found himself second, third, fourth, eleventh.
Sixteenth, seventeenth, and then twenty-seventh.
"It all seemed too good to be true."
He went back to the garage with his heart broken.
While the winners are on the podium with a sort of silver token.
And the grief didn't stop for him to his dismay
For a familiar anthem to him begain to play.
It could've been him up there, he was too close.
No one seen him much again.
He faded in-out again.
Oddly enough he'd learn good news soon.
For he woke up underneath the moon.
It was all a dream, a twisted dream!
Ironically enough he won the real race that day.
And an actual trophy he got to display.
But one thing was racing through his mind.
What if that day he faced the odd wind:
That the dream . . . came true?
(
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