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