Somewhere i've got a photo It shows how important i am But these days the fun's left the farm No style left - it's all canned Someone spit and left a smeary smudge It's camouflaging my elan But here's a clipping from a magazine A gossip rag to wipe your windows clean That's me in the middle - surrounded by greats Men of letters, heads of state I permeated the upper crusts Like water poured out on the sand Until some asshole came down the road And crushed the domain of my elan You can slag my clothes Ridicule my style Plunder the domain of my taste But somehow, somewhere, i can keep The memory of my elan