Can You Spare a Dime? 13/1/09

They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead
A monument so vulgar and stark, to which believers were willing to be led
Now I feel colder I can’t help but feel that my ego was unjustly fed
My temple to indulgent self affectation, has crumbled while everyone fled

Once I built an ‘empire’, I made it run, I made myself race against time
Once I was an artist; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

They used to tell me I was building a dream, so I stood far apart the mob
There was a public to mock, and crap to be sold; I was always there right on the job
Now relics from that now decayed dead belief, torment this failed demi-god
Shame for my folly would have more accord, than indifference now hope has been robbed.

Art cannot live without faith in its truth or its beauty or value in time
Then I was an artist, perhaps now I'm done. Brother, can you spare a dime?