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I'm eternally grateful to my past influences
But they will not free me, I am not diseased
All the people ask me how I wrote, 'Elastic Man'
Life should be full of strangeness like a rich painting
But it gets worse day by day, I'm a potential DJ
A creeping wreck, a mental wretch
Everybody asks me how I wrote, 'Elastic Man'
His soul hurts though it's well filled up
The praise received is mentally sent back or taken apart
The Observer magazine just about sums him up
E.g. self-satisfied, smug
I'm living a fake, people say, "You are entitled to and great"
But I haven't wrote for 90 days, I'll get a good deal
And I'll go away, away from the empty brains
That ask how I wrote, 'Elastic Man'
His last work was, 'Space Mystery' in the Daily Mail
An article in Leather Thighs, the only thing real is waking
And rubbing your eyes, so I'm resigned to bed
I keep bottles and comics stuffed by its head
Fuck it, let the beard grow, I'm too tired,
I'll do it tomorrow, the fridge is sparse
But in the town, they'll stop me in the shops
Verily they'll track me down
Touch my shoulder and ignore my dumb mission
And sick red faced smile and they will ask me
And they will ask me how I wrote, 'Elastic Man'
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