General discussion, page-6770

In a murky river, deep and long,
Lived a crocodile, always wrong.
He thought he'd fly, soar through the sky,
But ended up in the water with a sigh.

His teeth were sharp, his skin so tough,
Yet his ideas were more than rough.
He'd chase the moon, believing it cheese,
And in the end, get lost in the reeds.

This crocodile, with his grand delusions,
Faced a world of constant confusions.
He'd sing to stones, thinking them frogs,
And couldn't tell shadows from logs.

In his mind, he was a sage,
But reality trapped him in a cage.
With each mistake, his hope would fade,
In the river where his bed was made.

So here's to the crocodile, wrong and alone,
His spirit a whisper, his heart a stone.
In the darkness of his watery home,
He drifts, forever lost, forever prone.