I wish I were a real artist, a real writer so I could just live off the art
And just sit here, writing all day long
People would all want to read what I had to say
No one would bother me, only when they wanted the next installment of My Life
I would have my own little apartment
Scarcely furnished with pieces of paper all over and pictures of friends on the walls
The clock would tick, minutes, hours would pass
So much time that I might need a new batch wattery
I would always have a drink in one hand and a joint & pen in the other
Just to add to the tortured artist look
"You do something to me that I can't explain"
The phone would ring and if I was in the middle of a new thought process it would go unanswered
All of my friends would be artists too
We would all hate the corporate world together
Together we would protest mind control drugs like Visine
"The first thing you want never comes"
I would of course be vegetarian
So I would live off rice and fruit
I wouldn't care about money - just the art
But then reality sets in and I realize I'm sitting on the couch in my parent's basement
Eating Crispy Mini's, listening to the playlist on my computer - currently on Boxcar Racer
"Will you sleep tonight? Will you think of me?"
The classifieds sitting on the table, open to the job listings
If I want to get out of here I'll have to get in to the corporate world
"A touch that you can really feel"
It's a tricky situation we're in these days
And I don't know where the solution lies...
peace....
