December 1998 / Volume One / Issue Three | ||||||||
Cliff Craven | ||||||||
Feeling Cassidy Sometime sustenance is a song, by four lads from Liverpool. Rolling over Beethoven, in a one bedroom grave. Four walls. Fridge. Got a garbage disposal, too. So, don't speak of convenience, 'cause I got it, Baby! At the flip of a switch. At the flip, of a switch! Electric Landlady won't play. Faith no more! Scratched by nails, from my own cucifixion. Still I try sometimes, hoping maybe it will work, this time. Desolate fields forever. Don't play it backwards. Hoax, O.k., Hoax. Always feeling Cassidy. Artist without an outlet. I can only lasso my muse, on a typewriter tape recorder, which has never been invented, of course So, don't speak of creativity, 'cause I ain't got it, baby. Just a washed up hack, twenty-seven, stealing other people's vision, hoping they won't notice. |
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