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Clerical Worker, 1965

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Dirt

There's a little ring of dirt
Around the collar of my shirt
It's been worn a day or two
But it'll just have to do
I can smell the beer
On my own stale breath
And my hangover is pounding
Like an impending death
There's a hole in my chest
Nine miles wide
There used to be a heart
Tucked away inside
Now there's just a pump
Beating away
Dragging me through
Each succeeding day
You don't kill a love
With a sharp knife
It was my cruel words
Sent her out of my life
My friends buy me drinks
And tell me that I'm free
But how can I tell them
Freedom is killing me
Now there's a little ring of dirt
Around the collar of my shirt





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Dirt


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