Fortune’s fool

The more I see, the less I know

The less I keep my lies in line the more I need the show

If only they would just and believe

they would understand and see the genius that I see in me

Nevermind the means

The more I speak the truth the less there is to say

The more that I pretend to give I really take away

             (boo hoo, poor you, fortune’s fool)


….they’ve all moved on but he wont and probably never will…


Here’s one for the Self Made Loser; Usurer of the Saddest Songs

His Melody, of selfish misery wrapped in the malady

Go ahead, sing along


‘bout an hour ‘til close the kid strolls in

Soliloquy extols him, yet, this sheep in wolf’s clothing is a

Student and study in modern self-loathing.

Fortune’s fool picks a stool and bellies up to the bar

Now, the crowd has grown thin as the barkeep’s grin

No matter, booze patterned loose chatter is perfect for him

You see, he’s thirsty to complain or confide or explain his side

Of how the big, bad world broke his poor, pure heart

Woe is me with a smile is on tap for a while

round after round he sounds like a good guy at heart

but they begin to notice the tells of his script

and that he’s listening or interested in anything other than his own shit

and soon the wordless replies of empty stools and rolling eyes

are all that’s left of an audience misread from the start

       (they’ve all moved on but he won’t and probably never will)


Here’s one for the self made loser; Usurer of the Saddest songs

He’s a melody of selfish misery wrapped up in the malady

Go ahead, sing along

Here’s one for the lonesome boozer; Abuser of the Saddest Songs

He’s a malady of selfish misery wrapped up in the melody

Best let him drink alone


His apathy? on cue

Your sympathy? his muse

Hey Jealousy, have ya heard the news?

It’s oh so romantic having nothing to lose

Performing live nightly at a dive near you


Through half empty beer bottles three rounds deep, stacks of shot glasses passin’ for half full dreams,

Local legends and old school cats with faded tats holding court for the barflies, the hangers on and the rats

He shoulders up and comers handing out numbers faded, not yet jaded, and puts up his sticker on a piss painted wall

Who cares, at least he can say he’s got one in there and he catches his eye in the mirror comin’ outta the stall

In that moment he knows he’s not the fairest of them all and he retreats as the fear hits him like a self aware wrecking ball

but the crowd is a boulder he just can’t push past, the door seems uphill he’s going nowhere fast . it’s a never ending struggle from the first breath to the last

all eyes are on him as he screams the only honest note that he’s ever hit.

                                                       I am fortune’s fool.