I think I’ve sat here pondering long enough
Coaxing my ego through one more day
Some old car with new paint drifts by
Painting the window in a murky spray
A stage of fumbling critics
and young hopefuls prowl behind
I think I will not meet them today
Nor let them wait, I’m not that kind

Let lice and time ravage old corduroy
That hangs on my door in pretentious croon
Let me romanticise native flaws
And saun in some old plastic fumes
Guide some well-meaning stranger to me
Who thinks I lost my mind
But expect me not to suspend avaricious woe, I’m not that kind

The archway groans for penance
ill-conceived notions of bliss
As I aim barrel toward my aching station
I hope that I don’t miss
Let the door hang open and
grey eyes stare till they rust and they blind
Let them not water in open defiance
Nor let them blink, I’m not that kind

As I claw maniacally at my lacquered desk
Know that I wish to free the grain
And know that should I shed my lacquer
I did so praying to cocaine
Or let me monk away my days to solus
Baptised in salt and wine
But please don’t mistake me for a bohemian in a doorway, I’m not that kind