Dreams of What May Have Been
I’d love to sit on a big leather chair,
And smoke a fat Cuban cigar.
And own a Monet,
And a little chalet,
And drive a red hot Jaguar.
But, alas, here I sit on an old wooden bench,
Sucking a ciggy filled with tar.
And my art's on a doormat,
In a cheap council flat,
And I drive an old rusted car.
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