My waiter is a brando affecting nicholson's smile I feel a sort of compassion bu t choking down my dinner was a trial The sixty-five year old poet, he's still fi nding his voice I read his old yellow clipping calling him the poor man's shitho use joyce The impossible dream, yes you will find out It's throwing cheap plas tic toys in its wake She clutched her precious objects that held no meaning for him His face was a jackal it seemed to her in the dim Transfixed and horrified h e watched it snack on some kind of albino cake She stuffed her screeching child into a stroller The impossible dream, yes you will find out Start at the top an d live like you're always willing to fall But you know it makes no difference t o me This year you'll reinvent yourself and grow Comfortably soft you'll jump ov er the barbed wire Slow motion in a crashin' car Her halo formed in broken glass And get your giblets torn off Yellow police tape and a blonde wig I guess you went too fast The impossible dream, yes you will find out
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