As he choked back tears and rubbed eyes that were gritty
Elon moaned to The Times that his life was quite shitty.
No one knows what it takes to make self-driving cars.
No one knows what it takes to get people to Mars.
So much could go wrong and it's all on my shoulder
It's like that guy Sisyphus pushing the boulder.
I sleep here in the factory, eating bad cheese and crackers
while a gaggle of short sellers makes one billion smackers.
My children are strangers, my house so melancholy
I need help! I need help. To continue this folly.
And my birthday alone with no friends and no cake.
Please help me wake up from this horrid mistake.
Otherwise I just find it is too sad to handle
Not a song, not a wish cause there weren't even candles.
The tweet about Tesla might have been premature,
We could take it private; of course now I'm not sure.
He was stoned, they surmised. He was tweeting from bars
If I'm high it's on dreams about dying on Mars
The directors were startled and came after me.
Who I really pissed off was the S. E and C.
I was Forbes favorite star, the most blessed event
Wunderkind, genius, unstoppable gent
Now I crawl like a dog through the factory's basement
While the board in their mansions find my replacement
I might be unhinged, going nuts, you would, too.
But, in truth, there is nothing much I can do.
Because I see a future that is quite fantastic
And to bring it about takes a life this monastic
The worst might be over for the firm's in good form
After all, what I sell is escape from the norm
But I'm bracing for torture in my personal life
Cause the short sellers are not done giving me strife
They are pushing a story that Tesla's run out of luck
But why? You might ask. Aah. The almighty buck.
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