That only he could truly describe,
He bangs his head against his life,
Trying to get inside,
The letters he sent to New York,
He should have never stopped,
Now the years left dry have left him behind,
And the world will remember him, not.
Oh, funny man, you're over,
Put out before your time,
Without the brashness to get anything done,
True to your insides.
And he wanders now, and might,
Try to relive what he once undid,
With more wisdom, but no more time.
What was it that his father said?
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