Rupert Hine Scratching At Success
He's scratching at success
Like some poor dog locked in a room
His claws are torn and sore
And still no one will open up the door
The water he drank long ago
And food can't ease the roaring pain
And even as he howls
No one will bring him fame
I told you so many times, my nails are wet
You are the one
I will forget.
