Sometimes when I'm walking,

I hope I have a heart attack,

and--if it don't hurt--

I know'll go out in style.

If not, I'll be like

Mama!

Maybe God keeps me alive.

And sometimes, at nights

when it's dim and lonely

and the room is dreary and restless,

I like to scratch my balls when they itch.

It keeps me alive.

I feel like a king afterwards,

when he usurped a young man's wife.

In my tower, sullen

with purple wine

dripping out of my lips and contempt