| Maybe just a good night’s sleep
|
| Would have changed your troubled mind
|
| From that rather permanent decision
|
| So tragic, so unkind
|
| Now, pain is what you’ve given
|
| And sleep is what you’ll get
|
| So far away from that sweet baby child
|
| Who hardly knew you yet
|
| Now he’ll grow up to be a fighter
|
| Full of anger, full of shame
|
| Like all the other haunted children
|
| Who wonder why they came
|
| And he’ll be in and out of trouble
|
| Until he stands up or he falls
|
| But there will always be a shadow there
|
| No matter how it goes
|
| Damn it, Rose
|
| Is this another cryptic message
|
| Or some kind of cosmic quiz
|
| If there’s a lesson to be learned from this
|
| Well, I don’t know what it is
|
| You could have given us the finger
|
| Much more constructively than that
|
| Now I sit here with the MTV
|
| And your bloated, Burmese cat
|
| We’re being treated to the wisdom
|
| Of some puffed up little fart
|
| Doing exactly what I used to do
|
| Pretensions to anarchy and art
|
| He speaks the language of a warrior
|
| He mounts his misinformed attack
|
| He wears the clothes of a dissenter
|
| But there’s a logo on his back
|
| And it’s a hollow rebellion
|
| As rebellions mostly are
|
| It’s just another raging tempest in a jar
|
| And the seasons keep on changing
|
| And the wind blows hot and cold
|
| Wish that you were here with us to watch this tide
|
| As it ebbs and flows
|
| Damn it, Rose |