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Hustle And Bustle

A Bum In A Junkyard

          Hustle and bustle

          there’s work goin on

          the steel forklift rumbles

          the shear clangors and gongs

          the men stoop and scrape

          I hear the hiss of a torch

          from where I sit and gaze

          deadbeat on a porch

          The birds fly maneuvers

          another one sings

          a green mayfly hovers

          on translucent wings

          a robins’ dark eye

          catches my own

          and over nearby

          I can hear the men groan

          Nothing have I

          nothing have they

          nothing we’ll take with us

          when we all go away

          But they grumble and sweat

          Glance at me and cuss

          “How come that is him

          and not one of us.”

          I’ve the life of a bum

          they don’t envy my riches

          and I don’t envy their lot

          the poor sons of bitches

          they knew long ago

          on a calm summers day

          they could do as they wanted

          could labor or play

          they could grow up and work

          or be free as a child

          join the rest of the world

          or be crazy and wild

          Enjoy shade neath a tree

          or mow down the grass

          Watch the clouds sailing free

          or get up off their ass

          there ain’t no free lunch

          I hear them all say

          they’ve all got a hunch

          I’ll catch on some day

          ’cause there’s bills to be paid

          and babies are cryin

          money has to made

          a man’s gotta keep tryin

          How can a guy

          get by with no car

          you have to stick to a plan

          or you’ll never get far

          So out in the sun

          they swear as they toil

          life isn’t much fun

          life is labor and moil

          but I loaf and I watch

          the birds as they play

          don’t need to do much

          and ‘poof’ goes the day

          the sun keeps on rollin’

          ‘cross heavens blue sky

          throwing light as he’s goin

          on them and on I

          No a man doesn’t need

          to work nor to play

          Time in it’s greed

          takes us all either way

          pay the bills, it don’t matter

          nor does a color TV

          if it’s living one’s after

          summer breezes are free

          nothing have I

          nothing have they

          nothing we’ll take with us

          when we all go away