From the recording Leaving It All Behind - Songs from an Expat
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Maybe I’m naiveto actually believethere is art that matters,and has meaning.Is it something I can make,or am I just another fakeanother dreamer dreaming?Self doubt and sour grapeswith confidence alternates.I’m a fool, a loutand they are great.Or the reverse,It’s even worse….An artist who is famousis just another anus,They say “he’s a genius” but in real life he’s a “pen-ius.”All around usBullshit sculpture, Bullshit paintings,Bullshit musc,Bullshit culture,Famous, mediocre,modal three-chord pop tunesare ubiquitous,the lyrics ridiculoususeless and banal,Juvenile and anal,And they got the gig,and made it big.Why them,not me?Damn my jealousy!Should I dare to thinkthat perchance, I stink,That I’m not as goodas those other fuckers,or as I am?Self imposed treasonthat that’s the reasonthat that’s the thing?They have the glam,And they have fans.Those mother fuckerswere so much betterin their V-neck sweaters,and they could sing,and those other cats could swing.And I’m a whiner‘cause they seem so much finer, … but they’re not,and I’m just being a snot,I judge themand begrudge them.I say “It’s all show businessAnd that ain’t my is-ness.”Then I see or hear some art,that I think is smart.and it makes me feel.Someone created it,and now I ain’t shit‘cause it’s the real deal.and I can’t berate it,That one rare find,that one of a kindthat’s uniqueand it speaksoriginalitywithout banality.Well, maybe I could be,or so I dream,the nextAntonio Carlos Jobim,God damnit, just anotherAtonal phony-ass Jim Beamor so I seem.There’s a thousand kings and princesbut only one Beethoven.A thousand kings of rock ’n rollbut they all stolethe side burns, shades, the stupid clothes,the look,mere crooks.And they convincethe rubes and hicksthey’re funky and hipbut there is only one Prince. I wish I could be brilliantlike the Beatles or Tim Minchin,but I’m not.and I’m caught in my own bitchin’Burning up in envious heatI get out’ the kitchenin defeat,I rot.How I wish I could be clever like Cole Porter or James Taylor.At least he got to nail her,Rode Joni like a pony,Carly like a Harley,yet none of them is phonyThey make real art and I can’t even start.So, I tell myself,If I could find the place to display my faceto the human racejust in caseI might be brilliant,or they might think so,I could make some dough,ya know…`My big-ass ego.“Being here’swhat holds me back.”I tell myselfas if it’s fact.and judge myself“I’m just a hack.”And “I could make it there,or if I had weird hair.”and, “life ain’t fair.”Afraid to Dare.Yeah,It always has to be some other place,another place hipperThan where I’m at.Where it’s atis like a cat,And you can’t be fat.No silver slipper,New York, L.A.New Orleans, Paris,(big enough to scare usif we come from far away.)Nashville, Seattle,(Assholes and cattle)Ok, I’ll take the trip‘cause it’s not where I amto get the “fam.”Maybe I should gohaul my big-ass egoThere,where the action is.Dare,Get loose.But, all I do is jamSo I call it all a scamand I’m just a big hamThat’s my excuse.and, “What’s the use?It’s all show businessand that ain’t my is-ness.”