WORKSHY WUNDERKIND

Bloodless was the fight he'd talk
of an immortality that's warped
him into an ideogram
A monument to the big I am
Whose ideas break the mould
In the biopic all will be told
A young Tony Curtis playing him
Yeah, meet the workshy wunderkind

They'll flock to watch the auteur dither
Holding his infected liver
and blank paper waiting to be blessed,
his dictaphone to be impressed
The critics love a long held tease
The nation's she folk on their knees
smell fertility in the wind,
there goes the workshy wunderkind
And everybody, as they stood there and grinned,
meant less than the dust to the workshy wunderkind

Never for real, always bluffing
in the garret of suffering
The World class sculptor of bullshit,
for whom adventure is counterfeit
and holey shoes are the holy grail
Art took his hair and made him pale
He's thin on effort but thick skinned,
the self made workshy wunderkind

His creative juices remain undisciplined
But future glory has been pre-destined
And your misunderstanding his reason underpinned
How come you have never heard of the workshy wunderkind?

by Robert Lloyd, copyright control