You chose with age

To speak with a prima ballerina's rage

And speak of all the kingdoms

That would swoop down

Stick around

Then proceed to ignore you



No flash pot pan, guitar man

Or resurrected Apollo myth

To seal your fate

Feed your plate

And just plain worship and adore you

But the pills you swill

Bring you no thrill

So travel lightly on the wing this time

Leaving all your baggage behind



As you wander through your vagabond stage

And find yourself shovelling shit

With a rusty jack-handle queen of a broken spade

You must not be afraid

You must turn the page



You wore your goddess down

In jaundiced disarray

Your halo fell into decay

Swiped by those you loved

But could not hold in sway behind you

And then the dry spell leaves

At a low shutter speed

Long enough for you to see

That you create your own reality

And that the wait alone will not enshrine you

And the war that you swore

Would pour through your door

To come to your rescue this time

Is all in your mind



Now as you wander through your vagabond stage

And you find yourself shovelling shit

With a rusty jack-handle queen of a broken spade

And you find yourself kicking dirt around

With your Paris green pumps

Of pentacles and precious jade

You must not be afraid

You must turn the page



You dreamt a world of things

Like you were a duchess born

Or Coretta Scott King

And the queen does not invite you over for a tea at her gaff

In Scotland

Or in Buckingham's back-yard



Now I'm sure 'Van the Man' of whom I'm a fan

Can surely understand

As he said ";It is not why, it just is.";

So therefore you need