He huffs and he puffs and he blows
The house down
He sings for his supper
He’s a rare clown
He has a girlfriend who hates him
She has good reason to
She calls him a transparent fake
And a certified Jew
Not a juggler or philosopher
He ever was
Not a lover of the lofty life
That was just buzz
He always salts his beans
and peppers his hair
He comes on time
And pretends to care
But he doesn’t really want
To save the world
That’s just a line
If the truth were told
He has a crush on Satan
Not a thing for Christ
He calls himself an agnostic
Unless it’s a bad night
He’s been a con-man forever
Never held down any job
He’s done time for nearly everything
And has no connection with the mob
Though you’d never suspect it
He has a tender side as well
He blows kisses to the moon
From his apartment in hell
His childhood was rather lazy
Though it’s gotten sort of hazy
His family was middle-rung
His mother was slightly crazy
His father was a barber
Who liked his steaks rare
His mother was a janitor
With a big pile of hair
As a boy he always played
On the wrong side of the track
As a girl he always played
With the leader of the pack
Then came the crash
In his late teenaged years
The suicidal mission
The solitude and fears
That landed him in the middle
Of a psychological ward
With old people who slobbered
While they played cards
This was just the place for him
To chill out and think
This was just the place for him
To get fat and pink
The doctors had the cure
For the illness in his head
Stringy food and pills
Yellow green and red
Which cheered him so much
He slowly exploded
Into the next century
All arsenic coated
He eventually straightened out
His curves and his kink
Went straight for the bottle
And started to drink
The years have not always been kind
to this boy
The poisons that he swallowed
The means he had to employ
To keep right on going
The measures he took
Were not easily come by
Were not found in a book
If it all works out in the end
It’s too soon to tell
He’s not dead yet
And he’s close to being well
What is true for certain is
That he’s paid his dues and some
What is less sure is why
He didn’t turn around and run
There isn’t much to gain
By beating a dead horse
There isn’t much left
Besides dying of course
Whoever may want to take a lesson
From this saga and this man
Might just as well forget about it
As fast as they can
Ron Kozloff 