Lately you've been brooding
Dismally dreaming of
Novel ways to occupy yourself, alternatives
To love.
Avoiding posted warnings
You shuffle down Memory Lane:
All the ruts and all of that congestion, well
You only have yourself to blame

Frowning at your mirror, you're strangely reminded of
Picasso's final portrait of himself,
Terrified of death
Put that thought away now
You're younger than he ever was
Besides it's so demeaning to subject yourself
To such banal analysis

Listen carefully: you'll hear the rattle
Of your desiccated dreams
Rolling around with a rhythmical sound
A gourd full of old has-beans;
Rolling around with a desolate sound
A gourd full of old has-beens.

Where's that crazy demon to whom you deny parole?
Can't you show some mercy on your own
Incarcerated soul?

Shed your dread and monkey, tread
On some smouldering coals
Once you felt a kind of holiness but now you feel
Only full of holes
Once you felt a kind of holiness
Now you feel full of holes

Let the band strike up a hot mazurka
Loosen up your tie and pants
Let yourself go like you did long ago
It's time to get out and dance