growing silver in my sideburns,
I'm starting to unravel.
Heard my heartbeat on a downhill,
I counted eighteen on my pulse as Kilrenny Church struck three for three o'clock.
The hours go by like sips of water. The record lies unbroken,
and no doubt, it's white flour in my diet.
It's going to be the death of me, sweet drumroll for those embittered big ideas.
so now you're lifting up the tiles to get around these conservation rules.
I walked down in the basement.
I'm hanging upside down, a gag across my mealy mouth.
When I read your simple novel, it uses all our real names.
And go make yourself a fortune,
there's nothing left for us then us left dangling just a little shamefaced.
And it's such a waste of all that we had.
And it's such a waste of all that I am.