I enrolled in Bikram yoga like an arthouse actor might,
I thought about my film script — the one I’d always meant to write,
I got completely trashed to invoke my inner artiste,
I shopped around for religion from the Far, Far East.
I tested out my Turkish when I ordered baklava,
I bought a trendy, done-up, rare, retro-vintage car,
I criticised the outer suburbs and all those bogan thugs,
I didn’t paint a single thing, because I took too many drugs.
I’m too busy being creative to actually make a start,
I’m too busy being an artist to create any art.
I’ve got this idea for a book — it will redefine the absurd,
And what I plan my band to be is the best you’ve never heard,
It’s not about the money — it’s about the installation,
You’ll be seeing mine when I’m done with procrastination.
I’m going to be satirist — right now I’m a clown in a cirque,
I haven’t had time to sculpt since I took on temp work,
I’d never sell out, you know, I’ve got too much heart,
And I’ve got nothing to sell — I’ve never made any art.
I’m too busy being creative to actually make a start,
I’m too busy being an artist to create any art.