The haze of coffin nails and the scent of liquid nerve
Swirl through the vacant garden rows
The verb coils warm as the check
Check
Checker
Reigns in his ersatz troubadour clothes
The ivory is stale as the company
Chestnut roots and fifths bled dry
The tired minstrel turns out uninspired words
Of hope and change and other statist lies
Cue the garbled sketch of an overpass arena
Where rooster croons for an audience of two
Passing pairs of headlights make for transient marquees
And the stars guide his fingers in those rusty twelve bar blues
They start with pilfered wives
Then slide to maudlin sighs
For his only son who married a machine
He flails his head about as his voice grows loud
But nothing comes to mind for the turnaround
So he says whoa whoa whoa whoa
Don't wanna settle down
So he says whoa whoa whoa whoa
Don't wanna settle down
So he says whoa whoa whoa whoa
Don't wanna settle down
So he says whoa whoa whoa whoa
Don't wanna settle down
Don't wanna settle down
Don't wanna settle down
Don't wanna settle down
Left with the slurred advice don't depend on anyone
I slowly nod
But purge it from my brain
Assure myself that it's too late
It's too late for that
And hope to all that's holy that won't change
