The Down Clown

27 Jan

I never liked the role of pained and pitied artist much at all

But how I thought it would make me

I always played it well and God shot moments came when I would call

But oh so fucking fleeting

The down clown, poet, knave

Cool, aloof, dreaming slave

Outsider looking in, the high, the grave,

Don’t know where to begin

I drank my bottles with the the bums on 21st, I died of thirst

For it was never my truth

I took the stabs, my soul would bleed, and I believed that I was cursed

The young always waste their youth

The down clown, poet, knave

Cool, aloof, dreaming slave

Outsider looking in, the high, the grave,

Don’t know where to begin

January 2001 ©2001-2010 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

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