It’s a terrible thing having an artistic soul,
because try as you might you just won’t fit in...
You can’t wear a suit, or work nine to five, not really…
and if you try, eventually the artistic side will find you out.
So where do you fit?
What life can you carve in the cracks in-between?
What does the Bank Manager say when, at the bottom of the bank account,
all you can do is quote him a sonnet?