There they were
Three wise men
Doing their thing
Strolling down the street
Quick tongues with a pace about their feet

He knew how to sing
Busking all of the time
Whenever he gathered a rhyme there was always a dime
Flicked in his direction

The novelist in the bunch
Never got much of his stuff published
But whenever someone asked if he would make it
He answered “yes”
Simply because he had a hunch
There he would sit every night
Writing away while a few hundred yards down the road Larry would play
The clicking and clacking from his typewriter sent his neighbour wild

Then there was Rodriquez
All smiles
Used up his time to the best of his ability
Parties hard, works harder
Always has a blast, looking about the place in order to soak up the quality
A soothing serenity about his face
You see
His only past-time was to make sure he always felt sublime to the last
When times were tough, there he would stand, cigarette & J-D in hand
Having a blast, taking the smooth with the rough

Three wise men
Doing their thing
Wondering when the money would start to bring
‘Til one day Larry got tired, threw a single dime on the ground
Followed this with a crazy squealing sound
Over time his mind had slowly been going to bits
This was it

Henry couldn’t write anymore
He needed the plaudits
Any sort of literary roar
What did he do, he smashed his typewriter
& proceeded to bang his head against the bedroom door
The neighbour wailed

Rodriquez smile only lasted a while
‘Til one day a beautiful Brazilian woman broke his heart
Took it out, tore it apart
He knocked his J-D back, smoked his last cigarette
Said “to hell with all of this flack… I’ve way too much regret”

Two wise men standing at their friend Larry’s funeral
Just them, the priest
& a finger-food feast
They didn’t know what to do
After the mass Rodriquez borrowed a smile
Walked up to the priest
Asked him to join him & Henry at the feast
“tell me about your hobbies… come sit with me for a while”

Three wise men