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You wanted the quiet life

You got a job

& found a wife

Threw your hands in the air

You wanted a better plan

You got wrecked

& sun-tanned

Left the old house crumbling beneath crooked wood

Is it too much to ask for this one last dance?

Is it too late to dream about sleeping alone?

I know, I know

I should’ve known, I should’ve known

That my mind is made up of troubled, little songs

When you wanted a blackout

All you got was a black eye

When you wanted a garden

All you got was a plague

When you wanted to stop wanting

Your fears came out hunting

And trapped you beneath the weight of the word

Is it too much to ask to have the last laugh

When my bones are not funny and the joke has grown old

Is it too late to try and make it worthwhile

When I know what I know

Just because I was told

You are a fault line

A walking calamity

A slack surgeon’s hand

Unguided by destiny

You are a smoker’s breath

Chained to a habit

Tied to a fence

Pulled apart by two carrots

You are a quitter

A coward, a thief

A liar, a lunatic

And all in-between

You are a cursed glance straight into the sun

& my mind is made up of troubled, little songs