The poet
Tekst og musik: Lars Krarup - Lars "Mitch" Fischermann/Ivan Pedersen

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