I looked into watery eyes Eyes of my father My brother My sister, My mother looking into the wall Her shaky voice, At discord with her words "Go and make it", Her success farewell. There I was A young man who dreamed Of a house in the 'burbs Where a carpet of Jacaranda blooms Would welcome October, Now I was a young man Burdened By his fears By his guilt By his need "To make it." My feet grudgingly stepped Through the door, My tongue remained behind Tasting mama's cooking Samp, Rang out its buttery call To a successful rainy season My toes inched forward Journey oblivious Beckoned, As the final score in street soccer There would be no tomorrow Just today's steps I was convinced I had "To make it."