Do you like charisma?
Do you like stamina?
Perhaps with a certain degree of integrity
And a bit of leadership
If you find these qualities to be evident
Then I could very well become your next president

I know how to balance
From center-left to center-right
From radicalism to conventionalism
How to be the best non-established established candidate
I’d put your money to good use
As I use gilded words in golden speeches

I won’t lose my head
While dominating the headlines
And keep on smiling while
Barnstorming amidst the blunt and the bigots
Debating with the decadents and the destructive
I can easily pretend
So I could very well become the next president

So primarily, I need to win this primary
I’ll put my money where my mouth is
If you put your money in a SuperPAC
Donate to liberate this country!
Vote to promote the road of progress!
And in time, America will be mine

For old time’s sake
I read the book you gave me
I read it
And then read it again
Hoping I would find traces
Of what used to be

But all I saw were empty words
And empty memories
I read it
And then read it again
For God’s sake
I’m still trying to forget you

Most of us don’t even manage
To become a hero, just for one day
But the Starman came, he saw, he conquered
He blew our minds
A creative centipede
A shapeshifter
A kook
A man who sold his image to the world
And showed us that heroes still exist

I have the reputation
Of being of brutish disposition
But I am the kindest soul
Taking all things slow
Carefully I tread
As I enter the room
With all the vases
And the precious porcelain
I am not the careless elephant
Who tramples all he can
Because he has the advantage
That he cannot see what lies behind him
Broken and bent
Nor feels the damage he is doing
With or without intent
Instead I am a careful soul
All too aware
Of my potential power
Of the possibility of my machinery
The damage that I may cause
The rampage that I may commence
And the carnage that I may create
I may be of brutish disposition
But I am the gentle giant
Who, with heavy steps
Gently treads amidst the gentry
Vying viciously for the vulnerable
Battling bravely for the bruised
A persistent poet trying to mend
Step by step
Word by word
Poem by poem

I am not a mad man
Indeed, I’m not a man
I am the Fisher King
An enigmatic fraction
Of your frantic imagination
I come and go as I please
Mixing serene silence
With immaculate impotence
Who will help me
The King and his kinsmen
The King and his people
A barren madman
In a barren world
Living on hope alone
Hope and make-belief

Yet behind the façade
Of a harmless hermit
Lies greatness and goodness
And the promise of purity
The meaning of life
And the riddance of meanness
The secret of bliss
Without ignorance
The purest pleasure
For both body and soul
For the King and his kinsmen
The King and his people
The barren madman
Changing the barren world
Into a painting-like paradise

So forget about reason
And the rules they imply
And embrace the essence
Of my delusional ravings
Look out for the invisible
Listen to silent whispers
And expose hidden meanings
I’ll be here for a while
Resting on the riverside
For I am not a mad man
I am not a man
I am not mad
I am the Fisher King
A barren beacon
In a dark, dark world

I guess I’ve been searching
For the meaning of life
In all the wrong ways
And in the wrong place

I delved into the deep secrets
Of lottery tickets
Hoping that a circle or three
Would reveal life’s mystery

Next up was a casino
Where I went straight for roulette
And found luck almost upon me
Yet the little  ball changed to forty-three

Then I soon discovered
That despite my hopes and prayers
That after my game of Blackjack
About life I still knew jack

So now I’ve come to realize
That life may be a lottery
But that doesn’t mean a gambling spree
Will reveal life’s meaning or mystery

The last time I took a stroll in someone else’s mind
I collected as many thoughts as I could
And nurtured them until they made sense
And gave meaning to the mean masquerading
Of the malicious and the morbid

When there’s nothing left to hide
The truth becomes a vile enemy
And ignorance the purest form of bliss
For once the stroll has come to pass
The shades of darkness remain all too clear

What use for the thoughts of a madman
Paintings of images made up by someone else
Uncanny, alien words that rattle and shake
Their true meaning resonating inside my head
Wondering if I was looking in the mirror all along