There's little in taking or giving
There's little in water or wine
This living, this living, this living
Was never a project of mine
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top
For art is a form of catharsis
And love is a permanent flop
And work is the province of cattle
And rest's for a clam in a shell
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle
Would you kindly direct me to hell?