Butcher the song
Tear out the pages of back catalogues
Endeavor whatever revisionist wont
Scrape off your shoes
On the walk to the room
That you sent off a check for last month
Denounce what you've done
For the sake of nostalgia
Remember you're still young
And problems aren't problems
Unless you're too old, sad, or tired to solve them
You're none of the above
Scavenge through the sorts of things
You wouldn't want to touch
To find the definition of "enough" is too much
Settle for love
For comfort, security
And curse the good luck
You can't lose
There isn't a soul in the world
You'll find flawless
And guess what?
You're one of them
Accept the relentless
Omnipresent tug
Admit you've not changed all that much
Where the blood on my hands is concerned
I'm not worried
I'm just sick of thinking circular
Confirming sad but true but sure
What if there's no other way
A balanced scale, two equal weights
One for each shoulder
Where the taste on my tongue is concerned
I'll continue to spit at and spurn
Each part of speech that attempts to explain
The mundane or the meaningful
With the right set of eyes you'll find life at a funeral