Pathetic cliche’s you romanticize so true
It’s all been done before!  This ain’t nothin new!
You’re a ghost of a man accepting defeat
Entertaining the fools who now fall at your feet

No longer surrounded by greatness or truth
The company you keep is at best uncouth
Your pen is impotent, so limp and so soft
Morons and psychos are your chosen flock

The sweet surprise is that I know you are wrong
And you’ll never sing an honest song
She danced before your closed off mind
Your future state has certainly been defined

I added my own verse to Dylan Thomas’s Clown In The Moon.

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose
And all my grief flows from the rift
of unremembered skies and snows

I listen to the mournful rain
As days and months and years pass by
And bathe inside the gentle pain
of never knowing how or why

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored our Earth to joy,
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And, with a full heart’s thankful sighs,
I blessed that watch divine.

I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me;
And revelled in my changeful dreams,
Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought, star followed star,
Through boundless regions, on;
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through, and proved us one!

Why did the morning dawn to break
So great, so pure, a spell;
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,
Where your cool radiance fell?

Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of nature sprang, elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

My lids closed down, yet through their veil
I saw him, blazing, still,
And steep in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.

I turned me to the pillow, then,
To call back night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again,
Throb with my heart, and me!

It would not do—the pillow glowed,
And glowed both roof and floor;
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door;

The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise,
And give them leave to roam.

Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;
Oh, night and stars, return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn;

That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew;
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before each note has passed from mind to mouth
Before the nights own tender melody
Follows its treacherous and lonely route
I hold myself and sing such songs
I’m not afraid of being wrong