Trash Can Sinatras Obscurity Knocks
Always at the foot of the photograph - that's me there Snug as a thug in a mugshot pose Owner of this corner and not much more Still these days I'm better placed to get my just rewards I'll pound out a tune and very soon I'll have too much to say and a dead stupid name CHORUS Though I ought to be learning I feel like a veteran Of "Oh I like your poetry but I hate your poems" Calendars crumble I'm knee deep in numbers Turned 21, I've twist, I'm bust and wrong again Rubbing shoulders with the sheets till two Looking at my watch and I'm half-past caring In the lap of luxury it comes to mind Is this headboard hard? Am I a lap behind? But to face doom in a sock-stenched room all by myself Is the kind of fate I never contemplate Lots of people would cry though none spring to mind Know what it's like To sigh at the sight of the first quarter of life? Every stopped to think and found out nothing was there? They laugh to see such fun Playing Blind Man's Bluff all by myself And they're chanting a line from a nursery rhyme "Ba Ba Bleary Eyes - Have you any idea?" The calendar's cluttered with days that are numbered