Elvis.
Yes, Elvis!
You walk the street in your army surplus camouflage gear
And all that holds you to Hope is a Name.
Not any name -
But Elvis.
Now this is the strange thing, Elvis,
That actually you’re not the only Elvis,
But one of many the same,
A little lost, a little confused,
No home, yet,
And dreams and ambitions beyond your reality.
And so you find a name to cling to.
I have respect for you,
But a cautious respect,
Because the volcano of instability that is YOU
Hides behind the Man’s name
Ready to nail me with a fist
When the Man has gone.
And he goes when you’re questioned too deeply,
When you feel threatened,
When the ego behind the mask can no longer hold the heavy weight
Of Pretend.
Poor Elvis.
Many years ago I came into contact with at least two young men who called themselves Elvis, and they were lost and confused fantasists giving themselves a little ego boost with their nickname. Nice enough guys, until you scratched the surface and put them under a little pressure.
