I used to be a therapist,
for terrapins and terrorists,
the terrorists made bombs galore,
the turtles crawled around the floor.
I used to be a traffic cop,
outside a danish pastry shop,
I lost my grip on trouser size,
and dental bills began to rise.
I used to be a one man band,
but found that I was undermanned,
it’s hard to play it all at once,
the passers-by gave boos and grunts.
I used to be a human torch,
but I burned down my girlfriend’s porch,
she sprayed me with the garden hose,
a fair reaction I suppose.
I used to make up all these lies,
a necessary job disguise,
to cover up the secret truth,
that I was James Bond in my youth.