He sits and smiles at his big CV Thinking he's just A piece of some being What exactly is he trying to prove? I wake up beside my bed and I look at the clock And I scratch my head Where am I supposed to be? I know what I wish that I could see He could have been a contender Once drunk he said to me A brilliant fiction writer But he had to leave it be I bang into my desk again and I look at the clock, God it's only ten At least I know I plan on moving on I look at him with his cobweb eyes amusing Himself with a wacky tie What is he supposed to be? Creation lost in apathy He could have been a contender Once drunk he said to me So why not make it happen? Even Pupkin had his way He could have been a contender Once drunk he said to me Well there's one shot in the barrel I'm done with sympathy