A man’s ambition must be small
If his thoughts are reduced to a bathroom scrawl
Especially if he can’t say anything smart
As he sits there with a broken heart.
But sometimes at a volatile age
It becomes a forum for his rage
When he feels the walls are closing in
And no one around will listen to him.
A man’s ambition must be small
To write his name on the outhouse wall
But sometimes it’s the only place
To criticize the human race.
Everyone expects him to go along
And act as if there’s nothing wrong
Though his world’s been turned upside down
And his true self’s being stifled and drowned.
A man’s ambition must be small
But then again, so’s the men’s room stall
If you’re looking for some deeper thoughts
Philosophy class is where they’re taught.
This is the realm of the dumb and inane
Expressions of lust and anger and pain
Crassly daubed, with malicious intent
Because there’s nowhere else to vent.
Oh-oh, my ambitions aren’t small
Oh-oh, the graffiti’s on the wall.
That was me at age fourteen
Uprooted and told to make the new scene
A five-cornered peg in a six-cornered hole
Forced to play the good-boy role.
What was I gonna do, protest?
Acting out seemed to be best
And so I gathered up my friends
And brilliant words of wisdom penned.
The authorities got royally mad
And, of course, they told my dad
Who, true to form, blew his stack
He yelled, he screamed, he swung, he smacked.
His voice raised, his eyes severe,
“You brought the worst of America here!
The actions of punks and ghetto trash!”
Mud on the family name got splashed.
That episode I’ll never forget
But the only parts that I regret
Are that I dragged my friends down with me
And that I chose my words stupidly.
I should have written what I felt
To the proper targets, directly dealt
And Dad should be relieved his son
Wielded only a pen and not a gun.
Oh-oh, my ambitions aren’t small
Oh-oh, the graffiti’s on the wall.
©2023 The Hesh Inc.
A true story, which went pretty much as described in the fourth verse. I was in ninth grade when this happened (so my actions couldn't rightly be called 'sophomoric'), in a dump of a school I never wanted to attend in a hole-in-the-ground town that I never wanted to live in. We all do stupid things when we are young, and I was no exception; there are still some people in that town who choose to remember me for the stupid thing I did while I lived there. But my only regret, as I wrote, was that I wasn't more to the point about what and who I was angry at. Not that I wrote anything on any walls. And in the era of school shootings, graffiti as revenge seems so innocent and quaint.
It took awhile for me to actually write a song about the incident. The graffiti incident happened in 1981; the song got written a good two decades later. A look back in teen angst. No music to this one yet.