The Ragman Was Cool
Well the Ragman was very cool
In his Carnaby clothes,
Safety pins through his nose,
Rings on his fingers, paint on his toes.
Serving up life’s rich gruel.
Preening like a peacock,
Strutting down the street,
Winkle-pickers on his feet,
Shuffling to the beat,
Generating major shock.
Dean and Brando all rolled into one.
The rebel with no cause,
Seeking all the right applause,
Entrances through many doors,
Has no time for fun.
Now he’s done and had his day;
The colours are all faded
Feelings become jaded,
Annals all are raided;
Hair sparse and turned to grey.
The Ragman was cool.
Now just another sad and lonely fool.
Opher 3.12.2023
Fashions come and fashions go, substance usually lacking. The philosophy of cool is subjective.
Every dog has his day and the time ebbs away and they are washed up on the beach.
What was cool is now derisory. What was young is now old.
But time goes round in circles.
Fashion freaks are trapped within the meaningless glory of their own narcissism.