Innocence is the difference between a man and a boy
Every man is guilty
Boyhood dreams of a master-piece
Trampled and filthy
There is respect, though
For a well-worn tool
The dull and broken ones, though
Have been abused by a fool
I heard of a master painter
Whose talent was such
He painted a master-piece
With a broken brush
But I doubt, sometimes-I still doubt
Street gutters make poor drinking fountains
But an even poorer bed
I’ve drank and slept in the palace
This concrete hurts my head
Reality is guilty
Now I’m a man
(forgive us, please forgive us…)
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