The Secret of Painting Is Knowing When to Take the Canvas Away

i had lunch with frank today
i’d wanted breakfast, but he insisted

there are three people eating the same meal, in shifts
they must work here
i’m shifting in my seat, supposing
the end of the world must be near

i’ve always wanted a tattoo with wings
but whenever i see one on someone else it looks stupid
(apologies, perhaps i haven’t seen yours)
(apologies, perhaps i haven’t seen yours!) but
nobody in the room knows i’ll blow in an instant
my mood has gone from waterlogged to downright treacherous
because not a single native has commented on my name
(that’s what i’ll say, if anyone should ask)

and when you shook your head and scoffed at me
i really wanted to punch you, i was so upset
in fact, i was fucking pissed
i need a break from this
i came here expecting a festival
and got a half assed circus

but my presence makes my name inappropriate
nobody wants to spend time with me anymore, i can see that
and don’t blame them, i’d like a break as well
but this world is my world, isn’t it,
mine and yours, oh wingéd creature
there’s another one. four at breakfast
and what’s yours? oh, i am not feeling scottish

but this will all be done soon, the end’s over there
and frank-o was wrong, it’s all about the breakfast