| Age 39, looking over from my hotel window | 
| Blue dots and red dots skating away in the park | 
| I used to be there twenty years ago | 
| Huffing over a mug hot chocolate drink | 
| Age 39, looking over from my hotel wind | 
| Wondering if one should jump off or go to sleep | 
| People tell you up is better than down | 
| But they never tell you which is up and which is down | 
| Age 39, looking over from my hotel wind | 
| 95 pound bundle but it’s trouble when there’s nowhere to leave | 
| People say stardust and golddust are it | 
| But they never tell you it chokes you just as sawdust do | 
| Age 39, feeling pretty suicidal | 
| The weight gets heavier when you’ve bled thirty years | 
| Show me your blood, john, and i’ll show you mine | 
| They say it’s running even when you’re asleep | 
| No trace of resentment, no trace of regrets | 
| One blood’s thinner but both look red and fresh | 
| If i ever die, please go to my daughter | 
| And tell her that she used to haunt me in my dreams | 
| (that's saying a lot for a neurotic like me.) | 
| Age 39, looking over from my hotel window | 
| Trying to tackle away with heart of clay | 
| The weight gets lighter when there’s nowhere to turn | 
| God’s little dandruff floating in the air | 
| Age 39, looking over the world | 
| Age 39, floating over the world | 
| Age 39,…mm-mm…floating along |