| I could tell he’d had a tough life
|
| By the way he sat and stared
|
| And me, I’d come to push and shove
|
| So I pulled up a chair
|
| We talked of roads untraveled
|
| We talked of love untrue
|
| Of strings that come unraveled
|
| We were kings and kindred fools
|
| And just when I’d hit bottom
|
| That old man raised his glass
|
| And said at least we had our chances
|
| There’s those who never have
|
| So here’s to all the soldiers
|
| Who have ever died in vain
|
| The insane locked up in themselves
|
| The homeless down on Main
|
| To those who stand on empty shores
|
| And spit against the wind
|
| And those who wait forever
|
| For ships that don’t come in
|
| He said it’s only life’s illusions
|
| That bring us to this bar
|
| To pick up these old crutches
|
| And compare each other’s scars
|
| 'Cause the things we’re calling heartache
|
| Hell, they’re hardly worth our time
|
| We bitch about a dollar
|
| When there’s those without a dime
|
| And as he ordered one last round
|
| He said I guess we can’t complain
|
| God made life a gamble
|
| And we’re still in the game
|
| So here’s to all the soldiers
|
| Who have ever died in vain
|
| The insane locked up in themselves
|
| The homeless down on Main
|
| To those who stand on empty shores
|
| And spit against the wind
|
| And those who wait forever
|
| For ships that don’t come in |