I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead, the potted plants yellow as corn; my woman was gone and the empty bottles like bled corpses surrounded me with their uselessness; the sun was still good, though, and my landlady's note cracked in fine and undemanding yellowness; what was needed now was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd because it exists, nothing more;
(it's not a surprise x2)
I shaved carefully with an old razor the man who had once been young and said to have genius; but that's the tragedy of the leaves, the dead ferns, the dead plants;
And I walked into a dark hall where the landlady stood execrating and final, sending me to hell, waving her fat, sweaty arms and screaming screaming for rent because the world had failed us both.
(it is not a surprise x4)
That I will be failed again We're all be failed again (x2)