Print

Robert Frost did write in settings beautiful and rusticHe wrote of rolling hills and green terrainBut poor me I must do my writing in the chaos of the city Sometimes even on a subway trainHow am I to ever learn about the woodlandsAnd the falling leaves of autumn, and such things sublimeWhen I must spend all my time just trucking 'round this dirty cityDoing what I can to earn a dime, dime, dimeHow did Robert Frost make payments on that little country place of hisWhere did he get the dough?Could he go down to the country store and sell a poem, saying"Here's a nice one I wrote about the snow"Surely now he must have had a sponsor of some sort, Perhaps a lady friend just rolled in breadA lady friend to say "Now, Bob, why don't you take a long, long walk and write whatever pops into your head, head, head"She'd say, "Bobby don't you worry about the mortgage, no no,Bobby don't you worry about those bills. Bobby why don't you go write a poem about the neighbors, About the fences, about the rolling hills.""Bobby don't you worry about the dishes, Songtexteand don't you even think about those pans.Bobby you know it's not good that an artist like yourself should be walking around this world with dishpan hands."So you see now Bob was free to follow through his fanciesWander through the hills behind the museBoy if I had Bobby's life I'd follow through my fancies,Oh, to be in Bobby's shoesIf I had Bobby's life I could be a heroGo out and find my fortune and my fameThe only trouble is, I hear from people who have found itThat everything in life stays just the same, same, sameJust the sameStays the sameJust the same Aus Songtexte Mania