Once, before I was the artist you experience before you now,
I wrote a piece called "I’m Not a Bagel."
It was a musical parody of Lenny Molotov’s "I’m not a Waitress,"
which lists a series of identity crises
in 1990s hipster New York, beginning with, "I’m not a waitress;
I’m an actress."

My piece began with "I’m not a bagel; I’m a donut,"
and followed a similar line,
ending with ideas like "I’m not a hot dog; I’m filet mignon, baby!"
or "I’m not not Pawtucket; I’m the fucking universe!"

It was for a covers night at my favorite club
and I don’t think Lenny ever heard it.
I don’t think Lenny’s ever gonna see reference to this, either.

I can’t find the script to that old parody,
and it wouldn’t work without someone playing the music,
which Estelle did, back over twenty five years ago.

Arthur played the "Subterranean Homesick" signs.

It was a good show.

I’m still not a bagel
but I don’t think I’m a donut, either.

I’m something far holier.