Factotum Blues - Don’t try!

Three hundred boxes. A warehouse full of dust. Glue, grease, and clockwork eating through the rust. Fired on Monday. Fired before the noon. Cheap green check in the pocket, and the streetlights bloom. Don’t try! That’s the law of the room! Don’t try! Keep the smoke in bloom! Factotum blues work, drink, lose, repeat! Don’t try! That’s the whole of the street! Low rent. Cold bed. A bottle, half a friend. Typewriter keys stuck fast at the bitter end. No noble hunger, no polish, no disguise just the ratty grin of dawn and the gutter in his eyes! Don’t try! He says it like a prayer. The job, the room, the bottle all of it is there. Nothing to conquer. Nothing to prove. Only the ugly little rhythm that won’t let him move! Don’t try! That’s the law of the room! Don’t try! Keep the smoke in bloom! Factotum blues work, drink, lose, repeat! Don’t try! That’s the whole of the street! Dust on the keys. Light on the wall. Another cheap morning and nothing at all.