
They say money makes the world go round but I think it was spinning long before we ever fucked it up with our money. It seems to be that the people with little or no money spend their time thinking about how to get it and those who have it spend their time thinking about how they can keep it. All seems very stressful to me. Nowadays we need roofs over our heads and food in our mouths and all that comes at a price. I suppose I always preferred being a dreamer to a banker.
ANOTHER MONDAY MORNING
Another Monday morning
Another day was dawning
Another weekend quickly passed
Two days never seem to last
Stared at the toast I’d burned
Threw out the milk that had turned
Just another week ahead
I should have stayed in bed
My heart already began to sink
Quicker than the coffee I tried to drink
Once again I was running late
Knew the bus wasn’t going to wait
My teeth I brushed
And out of the door I rushed
Forgot my tie and my shirt was untucked
All was wrong no matter where I looked
Shoelaces untied and wearing odd socks
I was tired of punching the same old clock
Never wanted a job to keep
But freedom is far from cheap
Greeted by my boss
Who told me he was at a loss
Said it didn’t seem like my heart was in it
I said “no shit, I quit”
He asked what I meant
So I told him I was only ever trying to pay my rent
He asked if I had another job in the pipeline
I told him I’d be just fine
He wanted to know what I was going to do
So I said I’d written a poem or two
Maybe I’d go and write some more
He’d never seemed to have heard those words before
I’d given all I could give
It was time to go outside and live
He asked me how I’d stay fed
When poetry’s long been dead
My friend I’m tired of this living hell
Besides poetry is alive and well
If no-one reads the words I write
I could disappear into the night
Find myself some place to go
Pick all the right numbers on the next lotto
I could take all my hope and pity
Put it on a bus to Atlantic City
Depending how lucky I feel
I could bet my life on a roulette wheel
Could buy a metal detector
Find me an old coin and sell it to a collector
If all seemed to be lost
I could go to Loch Arkaig like Garnet Frost
Search for Bonnie Prince Charlie’s gold in the highlands
Or I could sail to North Carolina Ocracoke Island
Or find myself lost on Plum Point or Teach’s Kettle
Maybe even find a place to settle
Some place I could find some pleasure
Living off Blackbeard’s missing treasure
Now there’s no office walls left to smother me
I’m free to make some kind of discovery
No-one would laugh at me again
If I was the one who found the chest of Forrest Fenn
I’d no longer be disregarded or ignored
If I was the one who discovered St. Albans Hoard
Well I no longer give a damn
I’m searching for whatever’s left of Black Sam
And I can only hope to God
There’s more to be found than the Whydah Gally off the coast of Cape Cod