No – you can’t say that.
And if you say it,
You just cannot mean it.
There’s just what you say,
And what is true,
Then there’s a thousand miles in between it.

You got a head full of brains.
You got a mouth to complain.
You speak eloquently and in vain
And it’s all vanity.

You got your name on your plates,
On your brand new Testosteronie.
You got a blonde in the back
You never even pay your alimony.

You got the wind in your hair.
You got a heart full of air.
You got an attitude of kiss my derriere
And it’s all vanity.

You like to think yourself an outlaw,
Just because you shot God down in college.
You said there wasn’t room for both of you in Dodge,
And now your brimmin’ with the emptiness of knowledge.

You’re in a roomful of souls,
And you’re lookin’ for the video control.
But you’re blisterin’ your feet
On a bed of dead coals,
And it’s all vanity.

You took a junket down to Nicaragua,
You spent a long weekend livin’ in a trailer.
You kissed a baby and you quoted Thomas Paine.
Then you went and had a beer with Norman Mailer.

You say and eat the right things.
You play and pull the right strings.
Won’t mean nothin’ when the fat lady sings
And it’s all vanity.


“Vanity” appears on Ghost Stories From Lonesome County.

© and ℗ 1994 Marques Bovre