Lying in bed at night thinking about Lady Gaga before she got famous lying in bed and thinking :

Every morning the roaches show up.
Five unsold books. Keep writing.
Where’s Oprah?
There’s no where to go man, I tell myself
Repeat Ram Dass
It’s always right here, man
Can you hear the 60s echoing?

I lay in bed.
Butter on my lips.
Flax tortillas in my teeth.

Every morning the roaches show up. 
We are rich poor people. 
I lay in bed thinking about Lady Gaga. 
Touring your first album, did you become obsessed by fame?
Applause is a monster.

Every morning the roaches show up. 
There’s nothing to achieve, man. 
What about my books?
We need the money. 
It’s all right here, man. 
If the writing doesn’t matter, what do I do? 
Walk the dog. Make beer bread. Massage feet.

Every morning the roaches show up. 
It’s all right here, man.