I was pretty comfortable
Tenured, money in the bank
Respect of my peers
Bored out of my bloddy mind
What I worked so hard for
Turned out to be
The death of hope
My fire softened by complacency
When Dylan was at the height of his fame
He went to work washing dishes in a Boston cafe
Just for a little while
To feel the beautiful struggle all over again
Long story short, I chucked tenure
Walked out the door with a box full of memories
My fellow comrades smiling weakly
Wishing they had the guts to do the same
My future uncertain
Stay up late, read all the books Ive collected
Piled up waiting for hungry eyes and heart
My smile is wider now, coffee smelling good