The poet
Tekst og musik: Lars Krarup - Lars
"Mitch" Fischermann/Ivan Pedersen
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The poet came in stinkin´ of gin with a night on the town
in his breath
Entertaining us all, havin´ a ball, tellin´ stories
of life and death
Thought he did plead us, don´t follow leaders, everybody
followed him
I guess is people enough think a fat man is tough you got to
hate the slim
The poet went out and left us in doubt did we make any sense
of it all?
Music was dead and inside my head I was left with my back to
the wall
Are we united or are we devided?
What is the truth that he found?
If I wore his shoes, I´m sure I could use just any booze
around
Though no way could any liquor make a poet out of me
Saints and sinners, loosers and winners were claiming he was
next to kin
But nobody heard one sensible word chasing the meaning within
I find it symbolic that this a profit like a general motors or
ford
One success of liwour couldn´t make a poet out of me, knowing,
life´s a bitch
Still you want more, I´ll take my weithers itch and throw
it out the door
Knowing, life´s a bore if you let it be,
I don´t drink no more to make a poet out of me
´Cause I can still see the signs and the road to take and
that famous thin line
Between genuine and fake, still no way, could any liquor make
a poet out of me, no