The glory of failure.

It’s just **** with sugar on

Jam and cream without the scone.

Because when I’m begging out in the street

And my eyes happen to meet those eyes that look down

To me on the ground, and you put a coin in my cup,

Just remember you’re looking down I’m the one looking up.



And for those who pass by while shedding a tear

Don’t worry yourself none I’ve made enough for my gear

And more than enough for a couple of beers.

I know what you’ll say

You’ll say, I waste life away

Like I’ve wasted this day.

But I’ll say, I made enough to pay for my addiction.

The seduction which leads me to say

That’s the glory of failure.



I saw an advert for a job and this job was paying quite a few bob.

But I wouldn’t have got it…no sugar just ****.

So I didn’t bother trying

I went back to lying on my bed

I went back to getting out of my head.

When all’s done and said I’m just a no hoper

A drug fiendish doper.

That’s the glory of failure.



If I could have a chance, a second chance, a last chance

To get my brain round to thinking

To think I’ll stop drinking.

I could get off the gear, I could get off my rear.

I could send my C.V to employers

Those employers who are known as the unemployment destroyers.

I could have a meaning instead of this leaning I have,

Towards self destruction.

I could get a job on a site become involved in construction.

So many things on the doorstep right here

But really

I much rather prefer getting ****** on the gear.

Oh yes that’s the glory of failure.



I should get myself well move out from this hell

But what the doctors have said is, in six months I’ll be dead

So I’m going to make tracks.

No,not those made by the needle

I’m going to wheedle

My way into a hospice which could be quite nice.

I think that’s the glory of failure



But what the hey I’m a guardian reader

But unlike other guardian readers those centre right bleeders

I’m totally anarchist, often totally tanked up and ******.

But in reading the guardian I just cannot lose

It makes such wonderful padding for the holes in the soles of my shoes.

And I’ve had plenty of dates with several girlfriends of mates

But when they’re looking down there and they see nothing stir.

That may be the glory of failure.



Perhaps when I’m old and I’m ready to die

I might cast my mind back and I might wonder why,

Every time I have failed the boat seems to have just sailed.

But I was never a sailor.

I was just a participant in

The Glory Of Failure.