©2003 Harvey H. Warwick III

I graduated in the middle of my senior class:
Though rarely did I fail a course, yet some were tough to pass.
My car is not the best, nor yet the worst you’ve ever seen.
Although it’s not a heap of junk, it’s not a limousine.
There’s not a story I can tell, but someone else has got
A more compelling anecdote that folks will like a lot.
There’s not a thing I’ve done that everyone has yet to try.
I’m not all that original; I’m just another guy.
I am the youngest child in a family of four.
Because I am soft-spoken, I’m quite easy to ignore.
My best friends all have better friends than me; it makes me cry.
To all my close acquaintances, I’m just another guy.
No matter how much I can do, somebody can do more.
My very best achievements by comparison are poor.
Somebody’s done it better, bigger, faster, more than I.
I’ve never set a record, ‘cause I’m just another guy.
And even if I think I’m at the bottom of the heap
I’ll find someone worse off than I, whose story makes me weep.
My troubles, by comparison, aren’t worthy of a sigh,
For even there I’ve found out that I’m just another guy.
I’m cheated out of pity, and I’ve fallen short of praise;
My life has now descended to a mediocre phase.
I fear I’ll be an also-ran until the day I die,
With nothing to distinguish me; I’m just another guy.