Buddha’s at the bar
Skulling pints and starting fights
And causing war.

Gone too far.

His life isn’t real
It’s just a dream
Of those in need
Like you and me.

We’ve gone too far.

Sonar stones are thrown
Across a street
And running feet
Are running Home.

Homeless Bones.

Kids are telling fibs
About his nibs in No.3
Who never sleeps and lives alone.

Home alone.

Buddha’s makin’ sense
About the tense unhappy men
Who drink in bars
And write on walls and smokes cigars.

But we haven’t time
To clean and shine.
So up we get
And dodge our debts
And place our bets
And close our eyes.
All will be fine...
Hope it’s fine.