There once was a man from Uranus
Whose dream was to not quite be famous
He called himself Paul
He’d rise but to fall
His lack of Gold records should shame us 


T‘was born in the fifties like Stingle
To howl and to mumble and single
He’d scream with a shriek
Then warble quite bleak
And once he even dared to jingle


Opportunity knocked a few times
Offered riches for some simple rhymes
He said yes and no
Seen that video
He passed up crisp fifties for dimes


Over the years he paid his dues
This songwriter without a clue
But radio shrugged
The basement, it tugged
And off he went into the blue


So music poured out through the years
Songs filled with fake drums and real fears
He keeps us bemused,
Transfixed and transfused
Cause if not, then why is he here…

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  1. Jake 25.Mar.08 at 9:04 am

    Kick ass poem

  2. Levi 25.Mar.08 at 1:59 pm

    I dig the sentiment, but….fake drums?

  3. jay 25.Mar.08 at 7:38 pm

    Heh, yeah, Paul has gotten pretty bad with the fake drums.
    I Want My Money back is so bad on the fake drums is great.
    Or just bad.
    I can’t decide.