The Crew

 

They fly on the ground,

And as accurate

As an arrow through an apple.

Their passes rips through clutters,

Their shots drain like gutters.

 

Led by their leader, the alpha male,

In his hands where the game is changed.

In a world where one is all,

All are truly molded together as one.

Where selfish acts were once rewarded,

The team seldom relies solely in their man.

 

As it rains with threes

With flashes of thunderous dunks,

The crowd goes wild,

Wild as a vicious storm.

As one can never achieve

Without cooperation and companionship.

As if he was on a sinking ship

Without a flare gun,

Without a life jacket,

Without a life boat,

Without a crew.