- In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
- White And Dimpled, And Rather Small.
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- Oh How Bland It Does Appear,
- This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
-
- By Its Size I Could Not Guess,
- Of The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
-
- But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
- I've Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.
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- My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
- Since I Chose To Play This Stupid Game.
-
- It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
- A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
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- It Has Made Me Curse And Made Me Cry,
- And Hate Myself And Want To Die.
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- It Promises Me A Thing Called Par,
- If I Hit It Straight And Far.
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- To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
- Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
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- But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
- And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
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- It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
- And Disappears Before My Eyes.
-
- Often It Will Have A Whim,
- To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.
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- With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
- It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
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- Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
- If Only It Would Find The Hole.
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- It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
- And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
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- And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
- But The Ball Knows ... I'll Be Back Tomorrow.
