I wake up beside my bed and I look at the clock
and I scratch my head
Where am I supposed to be?
I know what I wish that I could see

He could have been a contender
Once drunk he said to me
A brilliant fiction writer
But he had to leave it be

I bang into my desk again and I look at the clock, God it's only ten
At least I know I plan on moving on

I look at him with his cobweb eyes amusing
himself with a wacky tie
What is he supposed to be?
Creation lost in apathy

He could have been a contender
Once drunk he said to me
So why not make it happen?
Even Pupkin had his way

He could have been a contender
Once drunk he said to me
Well there's one shot in the barrel
I'm done with sympathy