| Like a cloud, his fingers explode
|
| On the typewriter ribbon, the shadow grows
|
| His heart’s in a bowl behind the bank
|
| And every evening, when he gets home
|
| To make his supper and eat it alone
|
| His black shirt cries while his shoes get cold
|
| Tried and true, oooh oooh
|
| Tried and true, oooh oooh
|
| I guess I’m lucky to have you here
|
| In my kitchen in your chair
|
| Sometimes I forget that you’re even thre
|
| One summer, a suicid
|
| Another autumn, a traveler’s guide
|
| He hits snooze twice before he died
|
| And every evening, when he gets home
|
| To make his supper and eat it alone
|
| His black shirt cries while his shoes get cold
|
| Tried and true, woo oooh
|
| Tried and true, woo oooh
|
| Tried and true, oooh oooh
|
| Tried and true, oooh oooh |