Pulp

Come & play the tunes of glory -
raise your voice in celebration
of the days that we have wasted in the cafe in the station.
& learn the meaning of existence in fortnightly instalments.
Come share this golden age with me
in my single room apartment
& if it all amounts to nothing - it doesn't matter, these are still our glory days.
Oh my face is unappealing
and my thoughts are unoriginal.
I did experiments with substances
but all it did was make me ill
& I used to do the I Ching
but then I had to feed the meter.
Now I can't see into the future
but at least I can use the heater.
Oh it doesn't get much better than this 'cos this is how we live our glory days.
Oh & I could be a genius
if I just put my mind to it