He's scratching at success like some poor dog locked in a room
His claws are torn and sore and still no one will open up the door
The water he drank long ago and food can't ease the roaring pain
And even as he howls, no, no, no one will bring him fame
I told you so many times, so many times, so many times, so many times my nails are wet
You are the one I will forget
Writer(s): Jeannette-therese Obstoj, Rupert Neville Hine
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