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A teacher had you write a letter' you were eight years old |
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About the man that you'd become and the positions you'd hold |
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But this was long before you and Jackie Jaronimo met |
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In the Prelude Park at midnight |
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Now when it came to bells and whistles' Jackie did not lack |
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And when she kissed you on the kisser' boy' you kissed her back |
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Now you tell her that you love her and she cuts you slack |
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When you drink with your buddies on the weekend |
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And the weeks fly by and the years roll on |
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You spend your whole life dropping nickles in the bucket |
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Waking up at dawn |
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And while Jackie bestowed the joys of fingerlickin' |
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That clock up on the wall was a tickin' |
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You got yourself a job cleaning hospital floors |
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While Jackie had a baby and she had five more |
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They pay you just enough to drag your ass to the store |
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To buy bread' milk and better gardenshomes and |
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Jackie flips the pages and she dreams little dreams |
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A cottage in the country built with real wood beams |
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There's a baby in the bedroom' he's starting to scream |
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She holds him' though he probably won't remember |
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And the weeks fly by and the years roll on |
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Sometimes dreams are all you've got |
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To keep you going when the day gets long |
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And you gave up so many just to make a living |
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That clock up on the wall was a tickin' |
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Now the kids were all grateful when they left the nest |
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And Jackie wasn't perfect but she did her best |
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She sees the opportunity to get you some rest |
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But you can't sleep on the account of screaming grandkids |
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The golden years are meant to leave a gleam in your eye |
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You're starting to discover it's a great big lie |
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They work you like a dog until you quit or you die |
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But you can't quit because Jackie needs the benefits |
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And the weeks fly by and the years roll on |
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They say patience is a virtue |
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But the doctor says she don't have long |
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You stood up and tried your damndest not to listen |
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But that clock up on the wall was a tickin' |
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When they told you to clear the room' that's when it hit you |
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You watched as a caravan took your sweetheart away |
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The arguments and the fights and money troubles seem so worthless as |
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As the kids throw yellow roses on her grave |
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And the weeks fly by and the years roll on |
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The house is quiet now and everything inside it seems to know she's gone |
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There's a picture of you both' sixteen years old' just kissing |
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And that clock up on the wall was a tickin' |
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You always thought she had a chance |
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That there was somewhere she hid |
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And now you've come to the conclusion that she never did |
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Have a chance' that is |