I am editing myself as we go along - Paul Simon

Sonny sits by his window and thinks to himself,
How it's strange that some rooms are like cages,
Sonny's yearbook from high school is down from the shelf,
And he idly thumbs through the pages,
Some have died, some have fled from themselves,
On a struggle from here to get there,
Sonny wanders beyond his interior walls,
Runs his hands through his thinning brown hair.

Snowman sittin' in the sun doesn't have time to waste.

"The universe loves a drama," you know. And ladies and gentlemen this is the show.