Hat on, coat on, fists in each pocket, let's go.
I used to be an artist like Baudelaire or Rimbaud.
Well...perhaps I wasn't quite, but I felt like;
I had the urge to drink and move by hitchhike.
Bold and sensitive I tried most form of art,
Undeveloped yet intelligent I found out that
I didn't have a thing to say.
Why bother with the meaning of life or
the art of photography when
the most important thing is to have a job;
The rest is just fantasy.
Various employers employed me as an employee and
I climbed the ladder gradually straight down to scarcity.
At the bottom of the ladder I stepped on the road
And I was run over by midlife-chrysler.
Anew on the asphalt,
Catching my breath,
Trying to stand up,
I've got my clues.
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