The Secret of My Endurance (Live)

Album cover art for "The Secret of My Endurance (Live)" by Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski - Non-Music

The Secret of My Endurance (Live)

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Lyrics

The secret of my endurance I still get letters in the Mail Mostly from cracked up men in tiny rooms with factory jobs or no jobs Or living with whores or no women at all No hope, just booze and madness I get most of their letters on lined paper Written with an unsharpened pencil or in ink In tiny handwritings that slant down to the left And the paper is most often torn Usually halfway up the middle And they say they like my stuff I've written from where it's at, they recognize it truly I've given them some chance, some recognition Of where it's at It's true, I was there Even worse off than most of them But I wonder if they realize where their letter arrives Well, it is dropped into a box on a wire fence, Behind a six foot hedge And a long driveway With a two car garage Rose garden, fruit trees Animals, a beautiful woman Mortgage about half paid after years residence A new car, two cars Fireplace and a green rug, two inches deep With a young boy to write my stuff now I keep him in a ten square foot cage, With a typewriter Feed him whiskey and raw horse Belt buckle him pretty good, Three or four times a week I'm 60 years old now, and the critics say my stuff is getting better than ever

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