Statistic

A statistic maketh a man
The man becometh a number.

The track is long, winding,
With numerous hurdles thrown in at will,
And running, slaving on it,
Are the zombies, toiling with an inked till.

A statistic maketh a man
The man becometh a number

A blasphemy it is, on the track,
To have an emotive quality.
And digits of the numerical kind matter
More than a human personality.

A statistic maketh a man
The man becometh a number

The track ends where the rainbow does,
And the gold at the end is but a Leprechaun’s.
But instead of seeing the seven splendid shades,
He grabs the gold at the advent of dawn.

A statistic maketh a man
The man becometh a number

Time to be aroused
From a wakeful slumber.
Stop once and think,
Is the effort worth the number?