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And I've gone silver on my travels, |
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growing silver in my sideburns. I'm starting to unravel her, |
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My heart beats on a downhill, |
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I counted eighty on my pulse as Kilrenny Church struck three for three o'clock. |
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What else? |
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|
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And you said twelve years in retirement. |
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The hours go by like sips of water. The record lies unbroken, |
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and no doubt, it's white flour in my diet. |
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It's going to be the death of me, sweet drumroll for those embittered big ideas. |
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It's such a waste of all that I had. |
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You mentioned bats in the attic, |
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so now you're lifting up the tiles to get around these conservation rules. |
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I walked down in the basement. |
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I'm hanging upside down, a gag across my mealy mouth. |
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And how I'll laugh out loud about that. |
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When I read your simple novel, it uses all our real names. |
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And go make yourself a fortune, |
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there's nothing left for us then us left dangling just a little shamefaced. |
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It's such a waste of what we had. |
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And it's such a waste of all that we had. |
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And it's such a waste of all that I am. |
