Goodbye, fame! Put someone else in my niche. br I’d swap a seat in the President’s jeep br for a warm corner in a ditch br where I could go soundly off to sleep. br Oh, how I would unload my fears, br pour all my deadly, dreary pride br into the burdocks’ hairy ears br as I lay fidgeting on my side. br And I would wake up, with unshaven chin, br amongst the bugs and little insects. br Oh how marvelously unknown! - br someone fit to dance gypsy steps. br Far off, people would grasp for power, br hang by their nails from the top of the tower, br but none of this would send me sour, br in a ditch I would be lower. br And there, embracing a mangy dog, br I would lie down and make my berth br in the friendly dust, holding dialogue br on the highest level-of the earth. br Alongside, the bare feet of a girl br would float innocently by, br and pale blades of grass would twirl br down from the haycarts between me and the sky. br On a bench a smoker would toss out br a cigarette pack, squashed and empty, br and from the label the twisted mouth br of Blok would sadly smile at me.