The Wendover Five

They’re a strange group of guys, the Wendover five,
And they have the same story as mine.
There’s a guy who builds fences, one who tracks expenses,
A bottler, a dealer, and I.
How did we get here? It’s not hard to tell.
But that’s a story you’re about to hear.
We jumped on the band wagon when the poker craze hit,
We’re the left-overs, cast outs, remnants.
We all have great memories they all seem so close,
But a memory is a memory, far off.
If it happened yesterday, it mattereth not,
May as well be Greek history, it’s forgot.
We used to have home games, we all loved to play.
It wasn’t for glory or fame.
It wasn’t for money, that’s just how we kept score,
It was for the good times, a loss, still a gain.
But now deemed immoral, the bonds they were broken,
You could almost see them crash to the ground.
We all got so close, so mended, so bound,
Yet it came crashing down without sound.
But oh the good times, sitting at that round table,
Trying to pass off fable after fable.
No one really cared if he folded or called,
It was on being together we thrived.
No one really cared for a buy-in or not,
A close tight-knit family we got.
But the ones deep within you
Are those who run with you,
These men who sit right by my side.
They’re my demons, my angels,
They all once were strangers,
But now we’re familiar and live.
We all make up stories about our past glories.
In a way, it’s how those memories survive.
But when it’s all over, at least we’ll have each other.
The sinners, the strange Wendover five.