The Poet's Job

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Carl Funk

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It's the poet's job to sit and think
Watch all his fingers grow fat and pink
Shun the shovel and lift the drink
No need for working harder

Rich man says the poor are poor
By their own works and there's no more
To do for them, but show them the door
And say they must work harder
Poor man says life's not fair
With all that gold you're hoarding there
Starve my children to oil your hair
And we keep working harder

It's the poet's job to sit and think
Watch all his fingers grow fat and pink
Shun the shovel and lift the drink
No need for working harder

The poet sighs, counts his coins
To buy another round
But the price of inspiration can't be found
Pick him up toss him in bed
Those weighty words inside his head
Surely keep him tethered to the ground

Rich man says poor are poor     
Poor man says I'll work no more
The poet's slumped on the kitchen floor
Waiting to expire

It's the poet's job to sit and think
Watch all his fingers grow fat and pink
Shun the shovel and lift the drink
No need for working harder

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