They'd Call Me 'Artist' In America
Lyric Poetry
New Era
·
4 min
They'd Call Me Artist In America
Panic this, panic that.
Just an everyday Wednesday.
Connect the dots, looking back.
Pity me, Wednesday.
Waxing philosophic, someday iconic, an enigma - I am, I am, I am.
Poetic pursuits, idiot of creation, tied up like glue - I am, I am.
A highway, gateway, door to a nation that nobody knows - I am, I am.
Humble servant, giant fool, tortured soul.
They’d Call Me ‘Artist’ In America.
Panic this, panic that.
Just an everyday Wednesday.
When it works, it really works.
When it doesn’t, it doesn’t - stay in the game!
Waxing philosophic, someday iconic, an enigma - I am, I am, I am.
Poetic pursuits, idiot of creation, tied up like glue - I am, I am.
A highway, gateway, door to a nation that nobody knows - I am, I am.
Humble servant, giant fool, tortured soul.
They’d Call Me ‘Artist’ In America.
