hard times for the poets my friend
our traces on the walls
we circle around like dogs
girls don't notice us at all
their hair excites sorrow
the road to eternity is long
we cross it without a word and in silence

hard times for the poets my friend
the parts were handed out long ago
and everyone goes his own way
daddies drink and trip as they sing
women avoid them crossing to the other side
kids crowded together push them around
they spit loudly and howl like beasts

hard times for the poets my friend
people are beginning to look like chickens
their eyesight's bad and they go to sleep early
and in the morning they scratch up dirt
packed into a pile of tobacco
their pockets soaked in the sweat of their palms
they're everywhere you go