The Ballad of Cullen McPherson

Here lies Cullen J. McPherson;
He was never a real person.
All he ever was, was just exactly what
Whoever he was with wanted him to be.
If you looked beneath the surface,
You would only find more surface,
But deep down at the core, you’d find nothing for
He was never really real.

He never knew what to believe in.
He never trusted his opinion.
So, like a leaf, he flew wherever the wind blew,
Never landing in the same exact place twice.
He shied away from conversation,
‘Cause it might lead to confrontation.
Instead, to keep the peace, he’d just nod and agree,
As he choked on his own pride.

He died the eighth of February,
I read in his obituary.
The funeral was nice, I heard; many spoke kind words.
“A good man,” they all said, “liked by one and all.”
But in the end, nobody knew him,
So, in a way, he kind of fooled them.
He lived his whole life in chameleon-like skin,
But his true color was none at all.

God rest Cullen J. McPherson.
He was never a real person.

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