The Has Been

He was young in the days of vaudeville. He had dreams of becoming a star. He worked on his scenes and his comic routines Down at the local town bar. It was a mixture of slapstick and satire. He wore a vest and a blue derby hat. And he always could score with the drunks and The whores, but he thought he was better than That. He went off to Vegas. He bombed at the Palace. He played all the stages from Boston to Dallas. Now all that he has are some stories to Tell. Telling them's all that he does. He's a has-been that never was. Hollywood never embraced him, though he Tried every agent in town. He was always too young, too old, Or too dumb, too straight or too much a Clown. Though he once had a part in a movie, Most of that saw the cutting room floor. If you look really hard, you'll see his hand And his arm in a scene where he opens The door. If wishes were horses, he'd ride in the saddle. If time was a fortress, he'd win every battle. Now he's under the weather. He's over the hill, and the greasepaint runs cold In his blood. He's a has-been that never was. Now he sits in a one-room apartment Watching comics on HBO. But a need of surviving, he thinks of reviving The blue derby bit that he knows. There's always an old fool. There's always a new scene. He learned from the old school, And now it's the new breed. So as the curtain is closing, he takes one More bow, Hoping Heaven has room for the clowns. He's a has-been. He's a has-been. That never was. He's a has-been.