| I think I’ll go home and mull this over
|
| Before I cram it down my throat
|
| At long last it’s crashed, its colossal mass
|
| Has broken up into bits in my moat
|
| Rip the mattress off the floor
|
| Walk the cramps off
|
| Go meander in the cold
|
| Hail to your dark skin
|
| Hiding the fact you’re dead again
|
| Underneath the power lines seeking shade
|
| Far above our heads are the icy heights
|
| That contain all reason
|
| It’s a luscious mix of words and tricks
|
| That let us bet when we know we should fold
|
| On rocks I dreamt of where we’d stepped
|
| And of the whole mess of roads we’re now on
|
| Hold your glass up, hold it in
|
| Never betray the way you’ve always known it is
|
| One day I’ll be wondering how
|
| I got so old just wondering how
|
| I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow
|
| This is way beyond my remote concern
|
| Of being condescending
|
| All these squawking birds won’t quit
|
| Building nothing, laying bricks
|
| Hold your glass up, hold it in
|
| Never betray the way you’ve always known it is
|
| One day I’ll be wondering how
|
| I got so old just wondering how
|
| I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow
|
| This is way beyond my remote concern
|
| Of being condescending
|
| All these squawking birds won’t quit
|
| Building nothing, laying bricks |