You chose with age
To speak with a prima ballerina's rage
And speak of all the kingdoms
That would swoop down
Stick around
Then proceed to ignore you
No flash pot pan, guitar man
Or resurrected Apollo myth
To seal your fate
Feed your plate
And just plain worship and adore you
But the pills you swill
Bring you no thrill
So travel lightly on the wing this time
Leaving all your baggage behind
As you wander through your vagabond stage
And find yourself shovelling shit
With a rusty jack-handle queen of a broken spade
You must not be afraid
You must turn the page
You wore your goddess down
In jaundiced disarray
Your halo fell into decay
Swiped by those you loved
But could not hold in sway behind you
And then the dry spell leaves
At a low shutter speed
Long enough for you to see
That you create your own reality
And that the wait alone will not enshrine you
And the war that you swore
Would pour through your door
To come to your rescue this time
Is all in your mind
Now as you wander through your vagabond stage
And you find yourself shovelling shit
With a rusty jack-handle queen of a broken spade
And you find yourself kicking dirt around
With your Paris green pumps
Of pentacles and precious jade
You must not be afraid
You must turn the page
You dreamt a world of things
Like you were a duchess born
Or Coretta Scott King
And the queen does not invite you over for a tea at her gaff
In Scotland
Or in Buckingham's back-yard
Now I'm sure 'Van the Man' of whom I'm a fan
Can surely understand
As he said ";It is not why, it just is.";
So therefore you need
