What they call me

I’m the freewheeling jack
I’m what the whole world lacks
I’m the rebel who’s laid back
I’m the lap on which everyone sat
The prophets the thief’s the jokers the rats
I’m the poet drowned in a sack
I’m the singer that never sang
I’m the poison without the fang
I’m the lover that never loved
I’m the music that’s played too loud
I’m the boat that refused to float
I’m the key to the cosmic plot
I’m the millionaire who was always broke
I listened when the silence spoke
I’m the lie that’s worth living for
I’m the light that hid behind the door
I’m the wanted the needy the poor
I’m what turned a lady into a whore
I’m the plague that broke down the wall
I’m what walked before it could crawl
I am but nothing thus a bit of all
I am the pride that came before the fall
I’m the bowl in which Buddha spat
I’m the white in the eternal black
I’m the plastic Christ nailed to the plastic plaque
I’m the new age Kerouac
I’m the stone that went on a roll
I’m one who bargained for his soul
I’m what they call
A know it all