The Secret of My Endurance - Live

I still get letters in the mail, mostly from cracked-up
 men in tiny rooms with factory jobs or no jobs who are
 living with whores or no woman at all, no hope, just
 booze and madness.
 I get most of their letters on lined paper
 written with an unsharpened pencil or in ink
 in tiny handwritings that slants to the left
 And the paper is most often torn
 usually halfway up the middle
 and they say they like my stuff,
 I've written from where it's at,
 they recognize it truly, I've given them some
 chance, some recognition of where it's at.
 It's true, I was there, even worse off than most of them.
 but I wonder if they realize where their letter arrives?
 well, it's dropped into a box on a wire fence
 behind a six-foot hedge and a long driveway
 to a two car garage, rose garden, fruit trees,
 animals, a beautiful woman, mortgage about half
 paid after a years residence, a new car-
 two cars,
 fireplace and a green rug two-inches deep
 with a young boy to write my stuff now,
 
 I keep him in a ten-foot square cage with a
 typewriter, feed him whiskey and raw whores,
 belt buckle him pretty good three or four times a week.
 I'm 60 years old now and the critics say
 my stuff is getting better than ever.